


Nothing Between Us But Space and Time

by jessicathebestica



Category: The 100, The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, I'm gonna be cruel and make this a slow burn, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 98,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicathebestica/pseuds/jessicathebestica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d be lying if he said he didn’t remember the exact moment Clarke became more than just his sister’s friend.  The irony wasn’t lost on him either, how he woke that morning ill-humored and of half a mind to simply crawl back in bed and forget he ever promised to lend a hand.</p><p>But how was he to know that day wouldn’t be just like any other day?  How can anyone know with certainty when their life is about to be uprooted by someone so extraordinary?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're Everything I Thought You Never Were

 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t remember the exact moment Clarke became more than just his sister’s friend. The irony wasn’t lost on him either, how he woke that morning ill-humored and of half a mind to simply crawl back in bed and forget he ever promised to lend a hand.

But how was he to know that day wouldn’t be just like any other day? How can anyone know with certainty when their life is about to be uprooted by someone so extraordinary?

 

**August 2005**

“Road trip, bitches!”

Bellamy released a low grumble as he hefted the last of Clarke’s belongings into the trunk of his 2000 Ford Ranger. “Keep that up, sis, and the dollar jar’s gonna be so full you’ll be buying us dinner by the time we get to Boston.”

Octavia gave a non-committal shrug in reply, waiting for Bellamy to realize that her current state of unemployment meant that any dues on her part were coming out of his pocket.

The jar was left behind. 

Giving her mom a half-hearted goodbye, Clarke released a sigh of relief as the trio piled in the truck and pulled out of the expansive driveway.

Bellamy took out a giant, fold-up map of the Eastern states (“Seriously, Bellamy? You’re 24, not 60”) and estimated that their journey should take about 8 hours, prompting Clarke to roll her eyes and pull out her copy of the MapQuest directions.  “7 hours and 35 minutes without traffic, although it looks like we might hit some once we’re near the New Jersey Pike.”  Octavia was in the back, rifling through Clarke’s enormous CD storage case to borrow the albums she meant to burn onto her computer months ago but somehow never got around to doing. 

Having Clarke navigate wasn’t as bad as Bellamy thought it would be.  Actually, one of the few things he knew about Octavia’s blood sister (her words, not his), was that she was responsible to a fault.  In the last three years of their acquaintance, Clarke Griffin (student council member) and Bellamy Blake (Costco club member?) never found cause to talk apart from customary pleasantries, but keen observation assured him that Clarke was good for Octavia.  She was the voice of reason in a crowd of reckless, hormone-driven teenagers.

He still owed her his endless gratitude for talking O out of getting that butterfly tattoo after graduation.

On the freeway, Bellamy attempted small talk with the petite blonde sitting shotgun, assuming it would at least be better than listening to whatever squirrely-voiced popstar Octavia was making them listen to.  “So…Boston University.  Are you declared?”

Clarke's gaze was transfixed on the passing trees to her right.  “If I wasn’t, do you honestly think my mom would allow me to move out there?”  A rhetorical question, of course, but also a bit on the hostile side and was that really necessary?  He was only trying to be nice, after all.  “I was actually accepted into their Liberal Arts/Medical program,” she finally added.  “It puts me on the fast track to getting my doctorate.”

He was impressed but not in the least surprised by this trajectory.  Her mother was one of the most respected surgeons in Virginia and her father was the MRI technician at Mary Washington Hospital. His story, of course, was one everyone in town knew, yet seldom talked about.  Octavia wasn't in Clarke's life then, but he could imagine how trying that was for a young girl.  No child should ever have to go through that. 

“Well, I hope it all works out for you,” he said in earnest.  “Just remember to have fun though.  There’s a lot of interesting places to check out, like the Boston Common, Fenway Park…”

“Is that so?  And did you get all that from your fancy historical document?”

“You girls are grasping at straws with these old man jokes,” he huffed before self-consciously folding up his map and shoving it in the center console.  “And for your information, those tourist spots are general knowledge.  Fenway’s just _Fenway_ and I’m pretty sure the Boston Common is the oldest city park in the U.S. There’s a shit ton of history there.”

Octavia leaned forward between their seats.  “Ugh.  You’re boring, Old Timer.  Can we please talk about something other than ‘history’ and the fact that my boo is gonna live a million miles away from me for the next seven years.”

Clarke smiled fondly.  “It doesn’t have to be seven years, O.  If you would just get a part-time job while you’re going to GCC, like I suggested, you can get your AA in 2 years and then transfer to a 4-year school in Boston so we can go halfsies on an apartment.  Plus, it’s not like I’m leaving for good.  You’ll still get to see me during all major holidays.”

The latter was said with a tinge of malice, and Bellamy could only assume the blonde prodigy was forced to make some sort of arrangement with her mother involving visitation rights.  He knew there was some bad blood in that family—he assumed it stemmed from her father’s tragic death—but he wasn’t in any position to pry and O was usually mum about it.

He had to respect how well she knew Octavia, though.  Offering to split the rent on an apartment, when he knew full well that the daughter of Dr. Abigail Griffin could afford to rent out an entire complex, was a thoughtful gesture.  Octavia didn’t take handouts—kind of a ‘Blake’ family mantra, so to speak.

“Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say I magically found a way to afford big city rent,” Octavia said with a self-deprecating eye roll, “but how the hell am I gonna pay off the student loans that will eventually pile up, from a school that I will almost certainly give up on halfway through?”

“Scholarships,” Clarke replied matter-of-factly while simultaneously directing Bellamy to merge onto the nearest interstate.  “I’m told they practically hand them out on silver platters to students who opt to major in Accounting.”

Bellamy nodded in agreement.  “That’s true.  And O’s freakishly good with numbers.  In fact, now that I think about it, why haven’t I taken you to Vegas yet?”

“Because you’re too much of a mother hen to tarnish her innocence and let her get a fake I.D.?”  Clarke flashed a cheeky grin, making him wonder why he was suddenly the object of her taunting.  What did he ever do to her that would warrant such ridicule?  “But don’t worry,” she continued coolly, “I’ve already got it all planned out for her 21st birthday.  We’ll have her counting cards, smoking stogies, and hitting the high roller tables in no time.”

With a slight shake of his head, Bellamy guffawed.  “Says the princess.”

He ate his words shortly after saying them.  “Excuse me?”  The intensity of Clarke's heated glare was like an aura that surrounded her, surging toward him.  “I am not a princess.”

Bellamy shrugged.  “Well, you could’ve fooled me.  I’m sorry, but I just don’t see Blackjack or Craps as your kind of scene…you know, unless it’s for some sponsored charity event.”  He didn’t know what came over him.  He chocked it up to a severe lack of caffeine because poking fun at an innocent 18 year-old girl was low, even for him.

“Clarke,” came Octavia’s calm, yet commanding voice, preventing the blonde from countering, “don’t even think about punching my brother while he’s driving.  He has the power to kill us.”  She turned to Bellamy.  “And you?  Not cool.  Also, not remotely accurate.  Clarke’s one of the ballsiest people I know.  If anyone’s a bratty princess here, it’s you.”

Considering his recent bout of foot-in-mouth disease, he wasn’t about to deny that he deserved that.  “It was just a joke.  There’s no reason for you guys to go all postal on me.”

“Well, it wasn’t a very good one,” Octavia replied before glancing at her friend, concern etched on her face. 

Bellamy was at a loss as to why both girls took offense at such a silly, inconsequential nickname.  Clarke was practically Virginia royalty, after all.  Maybe that was the problem.  Maybe she didn’t want the responsibility and recognition that came with her name.  Maybe she wanted to be something else entirely.

Her irritation forgotten, Octavia stretched out in the backseat and told them to wake her once they stopped for lunch.  Clarke, however, still refused to speak, allowing the dulcet tones of The Flaming Lips to lull her into a state of complacency while Bellamy busied himself counting mile markers and reading road signs.  It was dull, to be sure, but at least it prevented him from stealing too many glances at Clarke and wondering what was going through that ingenious brain of hers. 

The princess remark was never meant to be an insult.  How was he supposed to know she’d take it so personally?  More importantly, why did he suddenly care?

“If it’s any consolation,” he finally voiced, eyes trained on the black pavement in front of him, “I don’t actually think you’re a princess.”

Another stretch of silence, and then a terse “good” was the only sound that escaped from her lips.

Bellamy clenched his fist.  So much for her accepting his apology.  Then again, he hadn’t really apologized yet, so maybe that was something they both needed to work on.  “And I never meant to hurt your feelings.  I’m sorry, okay?  You just surprised me, is all.”

Clarke’s words softened after that.  “Is it really that strange that something about me would surprise you?  We hardly know each other, Bellamy.”

It was true.  For three years, Clarke had shown up to the apartment he shared with Octavia as if she belonged there, grabbing a soda from the fridge before running to Octavia’s room to gossip about whatever celebrity was relevant to teens at the time.  Three years of this and what did he really know about the young girl beside him?  “Fair point.  Let’s see if the next 7 hours can remedy us of that affliction.”  

A slow smile crept up on her lips, changing her appearance completely, and, okay, maybe this impromptu road trip that he got roped into wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

 

\---

 

Three hours later found them at a rest stop just outside of Philly.  The diner food was hearty and the iced tea was refreshing, as it always was in the brutal heat of August.  They were animatedly chatting about how the next season of Lost was going to be so good when Octavia’s phone rang and she all but leapt from the booth to answer it.

“Oops!  Sorry, guys.  I’ve been expecting…I mean, I just have to go take this real quick.  Be right back!”

Octavia was up and out of the diner in a flash, Bellamy's initial curiosity quickly turning into antipathy.  “Let me guess: new beau?”

Clarke almost choked on her tea before donning her best Scarlett O'Hara.  “Why yes, I do believe she has a new gentleman friend.”  His refusal to smile or laugh told Clarke that he wasn't a fan of _Gone_ _With the Wind_.  “Alright, fine.  His name is Atom…I think.  She met him last week at Monty’s annual ‘end of summer’ bash.”

Bellamy’s eyes bulged.  “A week?  She’s known this guy a whole week and she hasn’t gotten sick of him yet?”  He let out a low whistle.  “This is starting to sound serious.  Am I gonna have to sit this young man down and ask what his intentions are?”

“Be nice” was Clarke’s only response before the smile she had been suppressing widened to form a luminescent grin.  Bellamy never really paid attention to Clarke’s smile before, the way her high cheekbones highlighted the angles of her face or the way her blue eyes turned a shade brighter.  Looking closely now, they weren’t actually blue but indigo.

“So, did anyone catch _your_ fancy at this highly anticipated ‘end of summer’ bash?”  _Catch your fancy?_   Shit, he really was an old man.

“I’m not really into impulse buys like O is,” Clarke replied smoothly, the abstract smarminess becoming another facet of her personality that Bellamy would store away for future reference.  “It takes a lot more than a heady glance to tempt me.”  Her cheeks seemed to tinge pink, but surely that was just wishful thinking on his part—which only made matters worse, because why was that wishful thinking in the first place?  She was 18 and he was…well, he was in desperate need of a new topic.

“So, what do you think you’ll miss most about Virginia?”

“Honestly?” she asked, scrunching up her features in a decidedly ‘Clarke way’.  This was really turning into a huge mistake.  Bellamy regretted not eating his burger in silence from the get-go.  “This probably sounds dumb, but I’m really gonna miss soft pretzels with mustard.”

Bellamy blinked.  “Pretzels?  Are you talking about the ones from The Bavarian Chef?”  She chewed on her lip and looked down at her plate, which was an answer in itself.  “That place has like $30 gourmet entrees, and you’re nuts about their soft pretzels?”

“It’s the mustard that makes them good, okay?  They make it from scratch!” 

Bellamy choked back a laugh as she tried to justify her answer.  In all fairness, he wasn’t one to judge.  If asked the same question, he’d most likely say something like Government Island or the Kenmore Plantation—to which she would probably taunt him mercilessly for being an old man or a nerd…again. 

“My dad used to take me there.”

And there it was.  Her comment came out of left field, the mood between them instantly shifting.  The Clarke that most people knew—calm, collected, a bit on the smarmy side—now just looked like a girl.  A girl with insecurities and idiosyncrasies like everyone else.  A girl he could relate to on a whole new level.

Clarke never talked about her dad.  Octavia knew more than most about Clarke’s relationship with her father, but she also knew how sensitive Clarke became at the mere mention of his name.  If someone brought him up, Octavia was usually quick to redirect the conversation.  All Bellamy could decipher thus far, was that she was very close with her father and his untimely death four years ago was something she still hadn’t fully recovered from.

“I wish I could’ve known him better.”  It was the truth and all he could think to say in that moment.  He wanted to know more about her father, but, more importantly, he wanted to know more about her.  On some subconscious level, their six-year age difference had prevented them from getting to know each other before, and now that she was leaving for college, a distance of 500 miles would prevent him from exploring that opportunity yet again.  In short: timing sucked.

Amidst the thinly veiled agony in her eyes, Clarke managed to flash Bellamy a small, yet genuine, smile.  “He was pretty awesome.  You know, it’s funny, even if you really are the giant pain in the ass Octavia paints you to be…I think my dad would’ve liked you.”

Bellamy knew a compliment when he heard one, taking the ones he was handed with a cocky grin instead of a grain of salt.  He wondered though, considering how highly Clarke regarded her father, if he deserved such praise.  “Oh yeah?  Why’s that?”

Clarke shrugged, the careful arch of her brow changing to match the cunning of her words.  “Because you’re both a couple of dorks.”

It was Bellamy’s turn to smile, because how did he not see that coming?  Clarke Griffin was an enigmatic firecracker, to be sure.  She was witty, she was real, and she was cute as hell.  In all honesty, he didn't know whether he should be elated or terrified by this development. 

Before he could even attempt to counter her jab, Octavia returned and plopped down next to Clarke.  There was a dreamy look in her eyes as she reached over to snag one of Clarke’s fries—even though her own, practically untouched, plate was directly in front of her.  “Man.  Musicians are just so deep, you know?  They can take something ordinary and turn it into a beautiful masterpiece.  I wish I could see things the way they do.”

Bellamy’s dumbfounded gaze searched out Clarke’s.  “He’s a musician?” he asked, referring, of course, to Octavia’s ‘new beau’, Atom.

“He goes to some fancy art school in Charlottesville.”

Octavia beamed knowingly.  “Atom’s studying music theory because he wants to revolutionize the industry.”

“How diplomatic of him,” Bellamy stated, not even trying to remove the sarcasm dripping from his voice.  “And on that note, we should probably head out.  Still got a lot of ground to cover before we get to Boston.”

“Fine by me,” Octavia mused as she vacated her spot, eyes glued to her phone once more.  “C-Dawg, you’re buying, right?”

The blonde pursed her lips.  “Let me guess: as recompense for abandoning you in your time of need?”

“And I hope you know that I intend to hold this over you at least until Christmas.”

 She reached for the bill, but Bellamy snatched it out from under her.  He took a quick glance at the bill before pulling out a couple of twenties to throw down on the table.  “You know,” he said evenly, ignoring Clarke’s look of protest, “Octavia can bat her ‘lovestruck’ eyes all she wants, but I still think this self-proclaimed ‘music revolutionist’ won’t last another week.”

Having Clarke pay for lunch was a cop out.  Bellamy knew she had the means to buy meals for everyone in that Podunk diner if it came to it, and she must’ve known the hardships his family had to overcome since he was a child, but this wasn’t about money.  It was about new beginnings.  Paying the bill was his little way of admitting this road trip was no longer just a ‘brotherly chore’ for him and, in spite of everything, Clarke Griffin mattered to him now.

She smiled as she slid out of the booth.  “Two weeks, tops.”

 

\---

 

They arrived in Boston at a quarter to seven, just as the sun began its descent and the sky blushed violet.  The city lights were sparkling, people were conversing animatedly on sidewalks, and Clarke, while navigating Bellamy through the busy, unfamiliar streets, was already smitten with the place.  It was new and exciting, but most importantly, it was far away from Virginia.

The fact that it took almost half a day to get here escaped Clarke’s notice thanks, in large part, to her two travel companions.  She was sorely going to miss them.

Especially, Bellamy.

It was strange, Clarke thought, that saying goodbye to Bellamy seemed like such a difficult task all of a sudden.  That difficulty should be reserved for her best friend, not her best friend’s brother.  In the span of three years, maybe ten sentences passed between them.  Now, having precious little else to do on a 500-mile long road trip except talk to each other, Clarke found herself questioning why they never got to do this sooner.

She even became obsessed with the little things Bellamy slowly revealed about himself, like his love of ancient Roman history or the way he vocalized his concern for Octavia once he was certain she was fast asleep in the back seat.  He didn’t present himself as the overbearing authority figure then.  He was simply a brother worried about his sister.  Vulnerability was a nice look on him--as were those expressive, dark brown eyes.

Once they located Greycliff Hall, the Blake siblings were hardly subtle at expressing their shock when Clarke opened the door to a substantially mediocre dorm room fitted with two twin beds.  She, of course, reasoned that having a roommate was all part of the college experience, especially when said college was so far away from everyone she’s ever known. 

Lugging boxes from his truck to her room was no easy task, made worse with each trip as the sun dipped lower and lower, until it finally vanished completely, buzzing lampposts now their only guide.  It wasn’t until they were unloading the last of her belongings that the mood shifted dramatically.  The heartbreaking farewell was nearing and the reality of that inevitability felt like an anchor slowly sinking into the depths of the ocean.

Bellamy, bless his heart, tried to fill the awkward void by asking Clarke about her course load and Octavia what stores she was going to apply to for part-time work, but the distraction was short-lived and an emptiness clouded their thoughts at the prospect of parting ways to their respective and distant homes.

Home.

Was it too soon to call Boston her home?  There was an innate cruelty in cutting ties with Fredericksburg so swiftly, but seven years away at college was an awfully long time and who knew what was in store for Clarke once she was forced to venture out into the world of adulthood?

Focusing instead on the present, she turned to face her best friend of three years as they stood outside Bellamy’s beat up truck.  Tears welled in Octavia’s charcoal-lined eyes though she was trying her damndest to keep them at bay.

“Don’t you dare cry, O,” Clarke commanded, maintaining her own composure.  “There’s no reason to make this some dramatic farewell because it’s not like I’m never gonna see you again, right?  You’re still my blood sister, so when Thanksgiving rolls around, I better hear you knocking on the door, eagerly awaiting to eat your weight in stuffing.”

Octavia laughed at that.  “I do love bread…and bread-related dishes.”

“And let’s not forget your favorite pastime: infuriating my mother with your ‘unrefined’ table manners.”  It was a win-win for both of them.  Every time Octavia talked with her mouth full or used the wrong fork at the dinner table, Abby Griffin’s eyebrows would make their way north, in danger of receding into her hairline.  They liked to keep tally.

As an afterthought, Clarke nodded in Bellamy’s direction.  “And if you want to drag him along, I suppose that’d be okay.”  He looked shocked and mildly intrigued and, well, that was okay, too.

Octavia glanced between them, confusion marring her features.  “So, what?  Are you two like friends now?”

The answer to that question seemed simple enough—at least, in her mind—but Clarke wasn’t about to own up to something when she wasn’t even sure where Bellamy stood on the matter.  He seemed just as tightlipped as she was, so Clarke opted to switch gears instead.  “I can’t believe you guys have to drive all the way back to Virginia now.  It’s gonna be like three in the morning by the time you get back.  Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?  I don’t think my roommate’s showing up just yet so there’s an extra bed available and I’ve got lots of blankets.”

“Two beds and three people sounds like an awful sitcom that I do not want to be a part of,” Octavia replied.  “Besides, I’ve made a nice little nest for myself in Bell’s backseat already.” 

It was a long shot, Clarke knew, but one she felt compelled to offer considering how helpful they were in her moving process.  Maybe this was for the best, anyway.  Better to rip of the Band-aid and say goodbye now, versus prolonging the moment and enduring more pain down the road. 

As sentiment seized them, the two friends wrapped themselves in a tender embrace.  “I love you, boo,” Octavia voiced in earnest, just before the loud buzzing of Octavia’s phone chose to interrupt their affectionate goodbye.  “Ooh, it’s Atom!  I gotta take this.  Later, Homeslice.  IM me, okay?”

And that was that.

“You know,” Bellamy started, as they watched Octavia climb into the backseat of Bellamy’s truck with her phone all but glued to her ear, “it’s sort of remarkable how quickly she can bounce from moment to moment like that.  There are virtually no transitions between her thoughts.”

Clarke nodded, watching as her flighty best friend became completely absorbed in her conversation with her boyfriend.  “Yeah, I learned early on in our friendship not to get offended by her whimsical nature.”

It got quiet after that, as they both realized that they were alone now and their own goodbye would follow suit.  How would it end?  Was it an ending?  Or was there also the possibility of a new beginning?

“By the way, thanks for, um, paying for the gas on this piece of scrap metal,” Bellamy finally articulated, angling a thumb toward his truck.  “I probably should’ve said that earlier but, yeah, thanks.”

Clarke shrugged.  Money was never an issue, but that was the last thing Bellamy wanted to hear.  “It was the least I could do considering you guys pretty much wasted an entire day helping me move out here.”

“I don’t know,” he responded, his eyes searching hers, “it didn’t feel wasted.  This trip was very…educational.”  A look of mortification instantly swept over his face and Clarke was torn between saving him and laughing outright.

“Well, I hope I was an adequate teacher.”  She knew her cheeks were flushed by now and silently prayed that the dim light of the lamppost made it too hard for him to notice.

Though Bellamy had felt he expressed himself poorly, the simple truth was that he wasn’t at all wrong.  She, too, had learned a lot from this road trip, even if it was a moment too late.  It was downright harrowing, actually.  Spending the day with her best friend’s brother—and discovering that she actually enjoyed his company—was like spending every recess of your adolescence on the swings, only to find out on the last day of school that the monkey bars were a lot more fun.

Clarke really wanted to spend more time on the monkey bars.

“So, listen,” she blurted without warning, needing to get this off her chest before she lost her nerve, “I know becoming friends seems like a stretch given our history, and I know I’m just a ‘punk, know-it-all kid’ and you’re…well, not, but I guess what I’m extraordinarily and inarticulately trying to say is that with a little time and effort I think we could be.”

The quirked brow and smug grin was proof enough that Bellamy was amused by Clarke’s incessant rambling.  “Be what?”

Another question that Clarke honestly assumed had a simple answer.  “Friends, of course.”  Unless it wasn’t as simple as all that because why would a 24 year-old construction manager want to spend his idle hours chatting away with some college freshman several states away?  “That is, if you want to be friends.  I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything.  It’s not like you—”

“What’s your number?”

Clarke blinked several times over.  “What?”

“What’s your number,” he repeated at the same time that Octavia rolled down the back window and yelled for Bellamy to hurry up.  “I want to send you something.”

Not in any position (or need) to argue, Clarke swiped his phone and quickly entered her 10-digit number.  He smiled then.  It wasn’t a grin either, it was just an authentic smile and her stomach may or may not have done a tiny backflip.  She stretched out her hand—because a hug was probably out of the question—which he took gladly.  “Don’t be a stranger, Blake Sr.”

“May we meet again.”

And like that, he was gone.

It wasn’t until Clarke returned to her new home in Greycliff Hall—as she idly began folding her clothes and putting fresh sheets on her new bed—that her phone chimed, notifying her of a text.  There were two to be exact.  One was from Octavia: **Miss you already! And no ur not getting these CDs back till Nov ; )**

The other, surprisingly, was from Bellamy.  He didn’t write her any lasting quip or final farewell.  Instead, there was a link that took her to a website for some German restaurant located in the heart of Boston.  It seemed completely random until she scrolled through the menu and saw that their signature appetizer was

Fresh pretzels with mustard.

“Huh. He remembered.”

Clarke never told anyone, but one of the very first things she did the next morning was set up a countdown for her trip home for Thanksgiving.


	2. My Heart Used to be Cold

**Late August 2005**

True to form, Octavia kept in contact with Clarke on a daily basis, whether it was an IM to state how boring community college was, or on Skype to vent about her eventual break up with “Atom the A-hole”, or to share a photo on Flickr of her new boss at the Potbelly Sandwich Shop who looked astonishingly like Waldo, minus the pin-striped sweater.

Bellamy, on the other hand, wasn’t big on social media, so his first form of communication with Clarke was via text two weeks into her first semester.  He attached a photo of a stack of CDs—her CDs, to be precise—in a disarray on top of Octavia’s computer desk.  Underneath, the caption read: **we need to talk about your taste in music.**

She smiled to herself and waited a few minutes to reply to stave off any eagerness she might be exhibiting. 

 **C:** **I’m listening.**

**B: I’m curious.  Were these purchases a conscious decision or items you just picked up at a garage sale?**

**C: meaning?**

**B: Let’s examine a few, shall we?**

**C: by all means.**

**B: You’ve got Aqua, Social Distortion, Garth Brooks, and…The Requiem for a Dream soundtrack.  Finding a connection btw these is like trying to solve a math problem w/ no definitive answer.**

**C: let’s not forget that O is the one that picked these out.**

**B:…from your collection.**

**C: a minor sample from my expansive collection and I don’t limit myself to specific genres. I listen to what I like. To continue w/ ur math analogy: the limit does not exist.**

**B: Fine, I’ll give you that. But Garth Brooks? Really?**

**C: what’s wrong with Garth? he’s a cool dude w/ a hat.**

**B: He’s country. The limit DOES exist, and that line is drawn at country.**

**C: boooo. ur such a music snob.**

**B: I’ll take music snob over 'nerd' or 'old man' any day.**

**C: oh ur still most definitely a nerdy old man. that will never change.**

**B: Yeah, well I guess that means you like nerdy old men...considering you're still talking to me.**

Clarke bit her cheek to stop herself from smiling too wide.  He went from cheeky to flirty in under a minute, and the fact that he was several states away hardly lessened the affect it had on her rapidly thumping heart.  Distracted by her own giddy thoughts, Clarke forgot to respond. 

This, in turn, made Bellamy nervous.  He wondered if his presumption had crossed the line, and instead of letting them both ponder that possibility a bit longer, he put an abrupt end to it.

**B: Hey, I have to go. Lunch break’s almost up. To be continued?**

Another pause.

**C: Definitely. ; )**

Thus began a tumultuous texting correspondence.  Clarke would tell him about places she visited in Boston, taking a photo of herself under the statue at the Boston Common or in this really old church she didn’t remember the name of but surely Bellamy would fangirl over somehow.  He’d update her on the progress of the 3-story library they were building in Eagle Village and Clarke would respond with so many smiley faces that he started to question her sudden fascination with drywall panels and vinyl siding.  Texting was fun, but Bellamy would’ve certainly preferred the real thing.

He eagerly awaited her next visit.

**\------**

**September 2005**

From her open window, Clark could hear distant sirens, car horns, and co-eds giggling spiritedly as they swapped stories in the quad.  On any other night, Clarke would block out the noisy nightlife with her headphones to concentrate on her studying, but it was Friday night and for the first time since moving to Boston about a month ago, Clarke felt alone.

Her roommate, Roma, already left to meet up with her friends, so being alone wasn’t just a state of mind, it was an actuality.  Clarke briefly wondered why Roma never invited her to tag along, but those thoughts were subdued when she remembered that they weren’t really friends to begin with.  They had a mutual respect regarding dorm room boundaries, to be sure, and that made for an easy living situation, but common interests were hard to come by. 

Roma said potato, Clarke said Solanum tuberosum.

It was a quarter to ten and Clarke considered just calling it a night because there was nothing good on TV and, well, she really wasn’t in the mood to get a jump start on the next chapter in her Organic Chem book.  Instead, she scrolled through her phone contacts and impulsively called the one person she hoped could cheer her up.

“Hello?”

“Hey!  It’s me!  Clarke, that is.  Although…huh…you probably knew that given the whole caller ID thing.”  This was not off to a good start as Clarke habitually relied on being clever and articulate.

“That’s true,” Bellamy remarked, his amusement offsetting the deep rumble of his voice.  “Kind of ruins the element of surprise, don’t you think?”

Her shoulders relaxed as the initial awkwardness subsided.  “It has its usefulness.  I mean, if I didn’t know ahead of time when one of my aging relatives was calling me, I wouldn’t know to use one of the many character voices that I’ve mastered to make them think they’ve dialed the wrong number.”

Bellamy laughed.  “That’s pretty ingenious.  Don’t forget to add that skill to your resume.”  She smiled and the companionable silence that followed was oddly comforting.  “So, was there something on your mind?  Not to say that I’m not glad to hear your voice, but this is the first time you’ve actually _called_ me, and I figured there was a reason.”

“No reason,” she replied rather quickly, hoping that lying to him meant that she was capable of lying to herself.  Easier said than done.  “Okay, maybe there’s a small reason, but I’m too embarrassed to admit it to you because I’m just not sure our friendship has reached that plateau yet.”

“Was O able to give you any insight on the matter?”

“I haven’t called her yet.”

“Why not?”

Good question.  “I don’t know.”  The hesitancy in her voice was blatant.  Did she really want him to know that he was the first person that popped in her head when she felt lonely?  “This probably sounds stupid, but I just felt like talking to you.  Is that okay?  I mean, I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”

She was met with a brief silence on his end, followed by a rustling sound she couldn’t quite decipher.  “Not at all.  I actually just got home from work and was looking forward to a relaxing night in.  I could use the company.”

“Great.  Me too.”

Words and thoughts flowed out of them with ease.  They really got to know each other that night, discussing everything from favorite movies (“The Godfather?  Really?  That’s such a red-blooded male response.”) to politics (“That’s why the government should fund existing schools to reduce class size and raise teacher salaries.  Vouchers for charter schools give stuck up, affluent parents too much freedom.”) to embarrassing fears (“And after that day, I could never look at Snuggles the bear quite the same.”).

It was fun and it was real.  She felt uninhibited talking to him, free of any doubts or insecurities.

And it was only natural for the dark corners of their pasts to surface.  Being children of harrowing circumstances, Clarke and Bellamy were surprised by how easy it was to openly talk about their ghosts to one another.

“I never went through the five stages of grief like everyone else,” Bellamy started, detached and conveying a certain helplessness she never knew existed.  “I went straight to bargaining, desperately trying to find some way out of this new life O and I were thrown into.  The policemen showed up at our door and I saw that look of pity on their faces and I just knew.  Having to explain to a 14 year-old girl that her mom wasn't coming home was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I remember in that moment expecting to feel sadness or even anger but instead I just…panicked.  Not because I didn’t want to take care of Octavia—truth be told, I promised to protect her from the moment she was born.  No, I panicked because I knew I wasn’t capable enough.  I was still just a kid myself, three fucking semesters away from completing my Bachelor’s, and in that moment I just wanted someone to come fix this, to do right by her.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke said, compelled to use the ‘silver lining’ tactic friends and family had often used on her. “In the four years since your mother’s car accident you kept a stable job, maintained a comfortable living arrangement for the two of you, and you managed to see Octavia through high school.  I’d say that’s more than enough proof of your capabilities as her legal guardian.”

Bellamy breathed heavily into the receiver.  “Yeah, but at what cost?”

Touché.  Another crisis of conscience Clarke was well acquainted with.  “Life is all about sacrifices, unfortunately.  You can’t stop it.  Everyone sacrifices a part of themselves when forced to follow the path of least resistance instead of the path they desire.  In my case, I spent the better part of two years wallowing in my own self-pity and shutting out everyone I knew.  And then I met Octavia.  You know, I think we both have her to thank for making these shitty paths mean something.”

“I still remember when you guys first met and how determined she was to make you happy.  I’ve never seen such dedication in her before.  God, Clarke, I can’t even imagine what you went through.  Freak car accidents are one thing, but the way your father went down…no one should have to experience that.”

“How much do you know?” she asked, curious if Octavia ever shared the intimate details of her story with him.

“Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

“It’s fine,” she lied.  It was never fine, not really anyway, but at least talking about her father kept his memory alive.  It was more than her mother could ever do.  “How much do you know?”

“Only what the papers said,” he answered tentatively.  “That Mary Washington’s primary MRI tech, Jake Griffin, went into a panic after making a colossal mistake in one of his examinations.  He tried to cover it up, but was exposed, and in a drunken stupor he walked up to the Channel 6 News Station brandishing a gun.  To keep others out of harm’s way, authorities opened fire and his wounds were fatal.”

The note of skepticism in his voice was oddly comforting.  “But you don’t believe that.”

“I never told you this, Clarke,” Bellamy said, that striking vulnerability returning to his voice, “but I actually met your father once.  I was a junior in high school and he did my MRI scan after I tore my ACL playing hockey.  When I told him how I got my injury, he began reminiscing on his own hockey days, and before long we were arguing whether Selanne or Jagr was a better Right Wing—personally, I was biased and couldn’t root for Jagr because the Penguins are my least favorite team.  I remember that in spite of all this, he remained professional and never forgot the task at hand, but he also made the time I was forced to lay there pass fairly quickly.  I don’t know, when I heard the report about what he allegedly did, it just didn’t make sense.  It didn’t seem in his character—the glimpse that I got, that is.” 

Clarke was touched by his account of her father.  It was nice to know that there was someone else who didn’t see him as the villain the media painted him as.  “Of course, the good citizens of Virginia never questioned _why_ he was outside of a news station, of all places.  It wasn’t merely providential.  My father was there for a reason.  Mayor Jaha tried to cut corners in his funding of the hospital by outsourcing new MRI equipment that was supposed to save the hospital money down the road.  But it hadn’t been tested enough and anomalies appeared in some of the scans.  When my father discovered this, he planned to expose the mayor by going to Channel 6 and urging patients who received MRI scans within the last six months to get new tests done.  As you know, he never got to make that announcement.  It’s nice being mayor, I guess—with local law enforcement at your beck and call.”

“I don’t believe it,” he finally said, before amending his statement.  “I mean, I do!  Of course, I believe you, it’s just—that’s way more fucked up than I ever imagined.  I’ve never been a proponent of Jaha, but that’s primarily based on my animosity towards the 1%.”

“By that definition, you should hate me.”

But Bellamy wasn't ready to change the subject just yet.  “How did Jaha find out what your father was planning?  Did anyone else know?”

The answer to that question had always been the hardest for Clarke to acknowledge, a bitter pill she was never eager to swallow.  She had eventually come to terms with her father’s death, accepted there was nothing she could do and attempted to move on.  But this?  Clarke had been permanently cycling through the stages of grief after discovering this particular betrayal.  “He told my mother.  She told him it was too dangerous to make a verbal accusation on live television and that he needed to wait until they could look at all sides of the case logically.  Her attempts were futile though—my stubbornness clearly comes from his side of the family.  And then there was Wells.”

“Wells?” Bellamy questioned, his confusion burgeoning.  “The mayor’s son?”

“Wells had been my best friend since before we could walk.  We did everything together.  He was at my house the day my father made that discovery, and we both overheard my parents arguing.”  She was grateful Bellamy couldn't see her right now as tears welled in the corners of her eyes.  “I made him promise not to tell his father, and when I saw what I thought was sincerity in his eyes, I truly thought I could trust him to keep that promise.”

Bellamy was quiet after that, probably still soaking in all the details of her intimate story.  She had reached her limit, however, on soul-bearing confessions for one day and hoped he'd take the hint easily enough.

“I've always noticed," he started, "that trust isn't something you give freely.  I think I get it now.  I know that wasn’t easy for you, but thank you, for sharing that with me.  I hope, in time, I can prove that I’m someone you can trust.”

“I hope so, too.”  And yet, after saying the words, Clarke realized that a part of her already did.

As if reading her mind, Bellamy switched gears.  “Hey, you know how O likes to put on cartoons after a scary movie?”

Clarke let out a bewildered laugh.  “Yeah?”

“Well, we should have something like that when a conversation gets too deep and we need to lighten the load.”

She wholeheartedly approved of this line of thinking.  “What’d you have in mind?”

“If someone handed you a million dollars, no strings attached, how would you spend it?”

More unusual than anything else was how easily it worked.  All the fear and anguish they felt drudging up their gloomy pasts receded into the depths of their minds as they both shared their monetary desires—some realistic and others…not so much. 

“A trampoline?  What, are you five now?  Bell, where would you even put it?  You live in an apartment!  You also have an abnormally high center of gravity which means your balance probably sucks.  Ooh.  You know what, I take that back.  Now I’m actually _very_ curious to see you on a trampoline.”

Bellamy laughed.  “I knew you’d come around.”

Clarke had to plug in her phone twice during the course of their late night tête-à-tête, but it wasn’t until her roommate came stumbling in at a quarter past two that she realized how late it really was.

“I should probably go,” she said, lowering the volume of her voice significantly.  “My roommate just walked in.  I’m worried she’s not intoxicated enough to pass out and become oblivious to my nonsensical rambling.”

“I don’t blame her.  You do enjoy a good ramble.”

Clarke scoffed.  “Only good ones, though.  I’m not a complete savage, Mr. Blake.”  She imagined him smiling and shaking his head several states away.  But imagining was nothing compared to the real thing.  “Okay, I really do have to go now.  To be continued?”

“You betcha, Princess.”

“Oh, you did not just—”

Bellamy hung up before Clarke could finish her murderous rant.  Her objections to the nickname did not quell his determination to say it.  He knew she wasn’t that angry about it, not really anyway.  Because, surely talking on the phone for almost four hours would affirm to her that he would never say or do anything to intentionally make her upset.

Clarke was a keeper.

It wasn’t until after their conversation ended that the influx of texts and missed calls from Miller and Murphy lit up his phone like a Christmas tree.

He let out a soft sigh before calling Miller.

“What the hell, man?” Miller greeted, his irritation making itself known.  “You’re calling now?  We tried to hit you up for almost an hour before we finally gave up and saw the later showing of _Serenity_ without you.  It was insanely awesome, by the way.”

Bellamy lazily dragged his fingers through his hair.  “Sorry for bailing, and then for subsequently not telling you I was bailing.  I was on my way out the door when I got…distracted.  I just couldn’t ignore it.”

Miller snorted.  “I hope that means you got laid or something.”

Stretching out like a cat on the couch, Bellamy smiled up at the ceiling.  “Or something.”


	3. Nothing's Perfect, But it's Worth It

**Thanksgiving 2005**

Friday’s late night convo was the first of many.  He’d talk about the mini mall they were building off Phillips Street.  She’d brief him on her boring lectures and, more importantly, how she finally started to make friends in said lectures.  Sometimes they would get downright existential and share feelings that they never shared with anyone else.

\--“Sometimes I wish my father was a selfish man and cared more about himself than the welfare of others.  Then, maybe he’d still be alive.”--

\--“I miss my life before my mother’s accident.  I miss doing whatever the hell I wanted and not having to always worry about how those decisions will impact Octavia.”--

But the best times, in Bellamy’s opinion, were when they’d just sit and comment on whatever crappy, made-for-tv movie was playing on Lifetime.  It felt less like a phone conversation and more like a night in, cuddling on the couch with his someone.  He lost track of how often he wished she was there right beside him.

Of course, he would get to see her soon, as she excitedly mentioned during their last call.  Knowing she would be back for Thanksgiving gave him a lot more to be thankful for this year besides a belly full of turkey.

In the days that led up to the holiday, he often contemplated just asking her out when she arrived.  There were so many reasons not to (the age difference, the distance, the fact that she was a million times smarter than him—to name a few) but the main reason he wanted to (he liked her so fucking much) was compelling enough not to let it go.

Thanksgiving dinner, he was told, was to start promptly at 5pm.  But Octavia and her freakishly fast-acting metabolism urged Bellamy to get ready by 3pm because “the fancy appetizers Dr. G usually puts out as a pre-dinner snack are like eating money and there’s no way in hell I’m missing it.” 

At a quarter to 4, they pulled up outside of the sprawling three-story house.

Bellamy had subconsciously memorized the route there, having retrieved his sister from Clarke’s place too many times to count over the last few years, but for once he took the time to examine the magnificent structure with an artful eye.  It was in his DNA to complain about how the other half broadcasted their sizeable wealth to the world, but the aspiring architect in him was too in awe of the Victorian’s tasteful exterior to care. 

The edges of the sloped roof were trimmed with a beige crown molding and pediment, the front door flanked by long, elegant columns to match.  Bellamy was a sucker for old houses.  He appreciated the craftsmanship that involved more manpower than machine power, the miniscule imperfections in the carvings adding to its aesthetic beauty.

They rang the doorbell and were greeted by an elderly man dressed as a…butler.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bellamy muttered under his breath as they crossed the threshold. 

Octavia inconspicuously jabbed him in the gut.  “Can you lay off the ‘working man’ ideals for just one evening, Norma Rae?  Dr. G only hires them for holiday events.  She takes these dinners _very_ seriously.”

Without allowing another quip from Bellamy, she made a beeline for what he soon discovered was the parlor.  She wasn’t exaggerating about the fancy appetizers ( _good god! was that caviar?_ ).  The food barely held his attention, though, as he marveled at the spectacle of his surroundings.  Waist high, the walls were a rich, deep burgundy while the panels below were made of American White Oak and veneered moldings.  A hand-crafted, Rococo style mirror hung on one side of the room and at its opposite sat a button tufted couch made of genuine, Tri-tone leather.  This house was an Architectural Digest’s dream and served as a blaring reminder that installing load-bearing beams was not _his_.  Octavia remained unaware of his ‘dream deferred’ as she continued to blissfully stuff her face full of biscuits with salmon, smothered in dill cream cheese and capers.  Something told him she’d be imposing on the Griffin home more often—with or without Clarke.

“I knew I’d find you here,” came the devil herself, Clarke’s raspy timber echoing from the other end of the parlor.  She was leaning against the doorframe, arms expertly folded across her chest.

Octavia shrieked, practically choking on the brie-topped cracker she hadn’t quite finished chewing.  They hugged excitedly in that typical fashion young girls do, and, okay, it was kind of sweet.  In a way, he envied their friendship—having someone in your life that you’re so anxious to see that everything else around you just fades into the distance.

He wondered if he could ever have that with someone…maybe even with her.

Clarke’s blonde waves reflected light from the chandelier above, which could account for his mouth’s sudden dryness, but he shrugged it off as general dehydration.

“In case I haven’t mentioned this yet,” Octavia finally said after separating from Clarke, “you’re totally forgiven for abandoning me.  This place is a hellmouth and if I had the means, I’d legit be living it up in some swanky city with you.”

“Well, you’d probably ‘live it up’ better than me considering this semester has only a few weeks left and I’ve made exactly two friends and attended one party.”  Clarke pouted.  “Apparently I’m not as cool as I thought I was.”

“Hey, as long as one of them is a friend with benefits, I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”  Octavia punctuated the end of her statement with a suggestive wink.

Ignoring it, Clarke glanced over Octavia’s shoulder at the looming presence in the room.  “Hey, Bellamy.  It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too,” was all he could muster, a little too preoccupied with analyzing the whole ‘friend with benefits’ thing.  “Um, how’s school?”

A stupid question, of course, since they last spoke three days ago and he could recall with perfect clarity which professors she liked and which she deemed ‘servants of hell’.

Clarke simply nodded, going along with the charade.  “It’s good.  Learning a lot.  Studying a lot.  The usual.”  An awkward silence hung in the air until Clarke steeled herself.  “O, I almost forgot!  That scarf you wanted—you know, that limited edition one from Betsy Johnson—I found it at an outlet mall in Boston.  It’s in the overnight bag on my bed.”

Octavia wasted no time heading upstairs to Clarke’s bedroom.  Okay, she might’ve snagged a prosciutto wrapped scallop first, but then she was off.

This left Bellamy and Clarke alone, for the first time in almost four months.  He had a lot to say, but couldn’t find the words to say it.  He was no wordsmith, by definition, unless rallying a construction crew to finish a settlement by deadline gave him a boost in the rhetoric department.  No.  Women and feelings—they were in a different league altogether.

As it turned out, talking wasn’t even necessary at this juncture.  Within seconds of Octavia’s departure, Clarke glided over to Bellamy’s spot by the appetizer buffet and wrapped her arms around his neck.  It was unexpected at first, but then it just felt right, and before long Bellamy was enfolding his own arms around her petite waist, pressing her firmly against his chest.

“Let me emphasize again,” Clarke said, her warm breath tickling his ear, “how good it is to see you.”

“Right back atcha, Princess.”

Clarke pulled back to look him in the eye.  “Stop trying to make that a thing.  You know I don’t like it.”

Bellamy smirked.  “Admit it.  It’s growing on you.”  She released him from her grasp and the loss he felt was instant.  “Plus, now that I’ve seen the inside of your castle, I’m wondering if it’s customary for me to start bowing in your presence.”

“And what does that make you?” she asked, a twitch of a smile forming on her soft, pink lips.  “The fool?”

That she countered with a jesting quip so effortlessly further proved how much her opinion of his nickname for her had changed since the first time he said it.  A lot had changed since then.

Assuming the role of ever gracious host, Clarke made him a Jack and Coke before giving him a proper tour of the house.  Clarke’s other relatives arrived shortly after that.  During introductions, his mother’s guidelines for ‘gentlemanlike behavior’ popped in his head.  _Square your shoulders, look them in the eye, and make sure your handshake is firm, Bellamy._ Even though she was gone now, those words had been engrained in him and he hoped to continue making her proud.

Dinner was announced promptly at 5pm, just as Octavia dictated, with the ringing of a bell.

“Trust me, I hate it, too,” Clarke whispered when she caught him involuntarily rolling his eyes.

At the table, Bellamy finally got to witness firsthand why his sister and Clarke griped so often about Dr. Griffin.  She was beautiful like her daughter and elegant beyond measure, but her mannerisms were contradictory.  She was all smiles and light-hearted jokes with family members, but thin-lipped and answering in clipped tones to the Blakes—typical upper class aristocracy.

And this was not for lack of trying on Bellamy’s part.  He attempted to find common ground with the woman by inquiring if the house was a Mansard-influenced Victorian.  His knowledge of 17th century architecture was inconsequential to her as her only reply was that it was built before she was born.

Clarke had appreciated his attempt though, flashing him a small smile from across the table.

Reasonable civility and polite conversation was fairly maintained throughout the course of the spectacular meal.  Afterward, Bellamy and Octavia retreated back to the parlor where he nursed his second Jack and coke (because why not?) while Clarke offered to help their cook with the cleanup.

“I don’t know how you’re still standing upright,” Bellamy said, shaking his head at his sister who looked a little green around the edges.  “You’re tiny.  Your stomach is not meant to hold that much stuffing without spontaneously combusting.”

Octavia looked up at her brother sheepishly, rubbing her stomach.  “But it was so good.”

“Should I write that on your headstone?”

“Ugh, whatever,” came her involuntary teenage response.  “Hey, before I forget, can I borrow the car Saturday morning?  I need to drop Clarke off at the airport.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows furrowed.  “I thought she wasn’t leaving till Sunday.”

“She changed it on account of her new flame.”

It was as if a black hole had wormed its way in and swallowed up his insides.  He felt empty, hollow.  “New flame?”

Octavia flipped open her phone and began playing Tetris, mostly bored with this conversation already.  “Yep, Finn.  What kind of name is Finn anyway?  Based on the pic she sent me, he’s pretty hot so at least he’s got that going for him.  Hey, can we stop for ice cream on the way home?”

Bellamy never got a chance to respond since, at that very moment, a thunderous crash coming from the kitchen garnered the attention of everyone assembled in the parlor.    

“I can’t believe you would do that!”  The feisty blonde sounded livid and both Blake siblings only needed one guess as to who her anger was directed toward.  “I move hundreds of miles away, but that still doesn’t stop you from trying to hijack my life!”

“Clarke, you’re acting like a child,” Mrs. Griffin responded, quite vexed but reticent in tone so as not to alarm their guests.

“No, you just insist on treating me like one!  I’m a legal adult now which means that I will make my own decisions whether you like them or not!”  Clarke burst through the kitchen door and stomped down the hallway until setting her sights on Octavia.  She attempted to find her composure before speaking again.  “Hey, O, can I—”

Octavia’s BFF intuition was en pointe as she silenced her friend with a wave of her hand.  “Go grab your stuff and meet us in Bell’s truck in five.”  Clarke smiled in thanks before retreating upstairs to do as she was instructed.  Catching Bellamy’s attention, Octavia then nodded toward the front door.  “Come on, we gotta go.”

He furrowed his brow.  “Shouldn’t we go tell everyone we’re leaving?”

“Oh, come now, don’t tell me you actually think any of those rich, white men give a shit about us,” Octavia said obtusely.  “The time for ass-kissing is done.  Clarke is coming home with us because it’s pretty clear she can’t be under the same roof as her madre right now, so…let’s go.”  Bellamy complied, if only for Clarke’s sake. 

The car ride to their apartment was relatively quiet.  She would tell them what happened with her mom in her own time, but for now she seemed to prefer the comfort of her own self-deprecating thoughts.

Once they got there, the girls headed straight for Octavia’s bedroom.  Watching them close the door gave Bellamy a sense of déjà vu—showing up after school and running to O’s bedroom to gossip about some frenemy or another while they listened to crappy pop music—except this was different from before because now he cared.  He wished he was the one she wanted to confide in first.  He wished there was something he could do to make her pain go away.

In all of their weekly phone calls, Clarke was rather averse to talking about her mother.  He learned a great deal more about her father, details he eagerly soaked up, relishing in the comfortable way she spoke of fading memories.  But she only mentioned her mother out of necessity.  There was a deeper resentment there that he had yet to uncover.

“Hey,” Clarke announced timidly.  Bellamy was rummaging through the kitchen cabinets when he turned to find her coming out of Octavia’s room dressed down in her BU hoodie and some leggings.  She gave him a curious look.  “Still hungry?”

He continued to search through the cabinets because if he stared at her any longer she was bound to notice.  “No, I doubt I’ll be hungry for at least another week.  Is O asleep already?”

Clarke walked into the kitchen and hopped up on the counter across from him.  “I suspect she’s in a food-induced coma so who knows when we’ll see her again.”  Bellamy made a sound of triumph as he waved a mesh tea infuser in the air.  “So, what are you doing exactly?”

“Making cider.”

“Making it?” Clarke asked, a glimmer of amusement altering her features.  “Isn’t that stuff pre-made so all you have to do is heat it up?”

Bellamy grabbed the spice jars and began breaking off pieces of cinnamon so they’d fit in the infuser.  “That’s one way to do it.  But this is our way.  My mom used to make it for us every Thanksgiving and keeping the tradition alive is like keeping a part of her with us.”

“That’s really sweet.”  She sat silently and watched him set up the small pot of apple juice concentrate before dropping in the spice infuser.  “My mom won’t let me honor my dad’s traditions.  She says it’s ‘too hard’ for her.  I call bullshit.”

This would’ve been a perfect segway into asking about what happened this evening, but he didn’t want to coax it out of her.  Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted her to tell him because _she_ wanted to.  “Everybody deals with loss differently, Clarke.  Sometimes, even the good memories are still tied to the heartache.”  His gaze was fixed on Clarke as he leaned against the counter nearest to the stove.

“So, what?” Clarke asked, her forehead scrunching in mild hostility.  “I’m supposed to assume my mother is taking my father’s death harder than I am?”

“Hey,” Bellamy said, putting his hands up as a sign of surrender, “you can resent your mother all you want, that’s not my business.  But shaming her for not grieving properly is not gonna bring your father back and it’s not gonna help you move on.  Trust me, I learned the hard way.”

They’ve had this talk.  They knew the toll death took on their lives.  

“Even before my dad died,” Clarke started, hesitant yet unable to reign in the words flowing out of her, “she had this obsession with controlling every aspect of my life.  People always used to tell me that she was just being protective because she loves me so much, but, I don’t know, she just takes things too far sometimes.  Like tonight—”

Clarke stopped herself, seemingly at war with whether she wanted to tell Bellamy everything.  He, of course, was a willing participant, so enraptured with her every word that he nearly forgot about the nearly bubbling pot of liquid beside him. 

“Tonight, my mother told me that I can’t go out with this guy from school because, well, her friend did a background check and found out he has a criminal record.  Apparently, I was supposed to be more shocked by the fact that he had to sit in jail overnight for his involvement in a labor strike than my mom digging for dirt on the poor guy.”

Bellamy fidgeted a bit.  “Finn?”

Clarke’s expressive eyes grew even larger.  “Um, yeah.  Did Octavia tell you?”

“Yeah.”  Needing a reprieve from her questioning gaze, Bellamy turned around to stir the cider and remove the pot from the open flame.

“I only met him a few weeks ago,” she said to his back, practically willing him to turn around and look at her.  “It’s nice having someone out there I can hang out with.”  He understood.  Talking long distance wasn’t the same as hanging out.  Not really, anyway.  She needed someone that could be there for her at a moment’s notice.  “Listen, I wanted to tell you, but—”

“I get it,” Bellamy interjected, keeping himself busy by grabbing some mugs from the top shelf.  “I’m a guy and relationship stuff is reserved for ‘girl talk’.  There will always be things that you’d rather tell Octavia and that’s okay.”

Bellamy could feel her gaze drilling holes in his back, but he still wouldn’t relent.  He didn’t want Clarke to see the remnants of pain in his eyes—pain from not being someone she confided in and, more importantly, not being the one she wanted to be with.

“I don’t want it to be that way,” Clarke finally said, her voice sounding much closer than it was before.  He turned and found her standing so close he could reach out and brush the floating strands of hair behind her ear.  But he didn’t.  “Bellamy, you’re the first guy that I actually feel I can be myself around since…well, my father.  You’ve become so important to me in such a short amount of time and it kind of scared me.  I wanted to jump in head first, but I figured there had to be some boundaries, otherwise I might say or do something that would make you realize you didn’t want to be friends with an 18 year-old brainiac with mommy issues.”

Friends.  His stomach clenched a little at hearing the word said aloud.  Would being her friend be enough for him?

Strangely enough, he was able to comprehend her meaning with ease.  This friendship was new territory for him too.  Apart from his sister, he’d never been able to be just ‘friends’ with a member of the opposite sex.  But it was feasible, right?  They were living proof of that.  Relationships didn’t have to be compartmentalized into _this_ or **that** , and considering he was six years her junior, maybe this was the surest way for them to stay in each other’s lives. 

Clarke anxiously awaited his response, though no question was asked.  She wanted to make sure they were okay, wanted to know that he was in this for the long haul just as much as she was.

Wordlessly, Bellamy returned his attention on the kitchen counter behind him, only to turn back around with two steaming mugs in hand.  He gave one to Clarke.  “No boundaries, Princess.  I rather like having you in my life.”  Her face lit up after that, no signs of vexation toward the nickname she was probably stuck with forever.  “My only regret is that we didn’t get a chance to get to know each other like this three years ago.”

Clarke shrugged.  “Meh.  You didn’t miss much.  I whined a lot more back then.”

“Sounds like I dodged a bullet then,” Bellamy said with raised eyebrows before taking a sip of his cider.

She gave him a half-hearted glare and then began retreating back to Octavia’s bedroom, bringing the mug of mulled cider with her.  “Or maybe it just wasn’t the right time.  Goodnight, Bellamy.”

Bellamy stood in the kitchen and watched Clarke walk way, wondering if it really was their time and what time had in store for them in the future.

 


	4. Sometimes These Walls Seem to Cave in on Me

**Winter Break 2005**

When Clarke thought of Christmas, she envisioned homemade tree ornaments, overly frosted sugar cookies, and carols that never got old no matter how many times she sang them.  She also remembered her father watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ every Christmas Eve and never understanding why he’d get so teary-eyed the moment “Auld Lang Syne” cued up at the end. 

She understood now, of course.  What was a boring black and white film at the age of 10 was now a lesson in appreciating the life you had, no matter the obstacles that darkened that path.  There could be no doubt that Clarke wished her father was still with her today, but she could now at least appreciate the precious time she was given with him.  Every laugh.  Every tear.  Every moment spent with him became something she would carry with her for the rest of her life.  No one could take that from her.

The Christmas after her first semester at college, however, was, for a lack of a better word, uneventful.  Though she had ultimately gotten over her mother’s invasion of Finn’s privacy—chocking it up to a level of safeguarding that not many mothers had the capability to achieve—it didn’t mean Clarke enjoyed the galas and gatherings that came with being the only daughter of a prominent, aristocratic doctor in the south.

And Mayor Jaha’s house was the lion’s den. 

Clarke had spent years avoiding this very house—for personal, yet entirely understandable, reasons—but she agreed to accompany her mother to his grand holiday gala because it was Christmas and hob-knobbing with the person who funded her mother’s hospital was an apparent ‘necessity’ and…dad would’ve wanted her to.

Attending, of course, did not include exchanging pleasantries with the mayor’s son, Wells, who she continued to dodge as she took in her lavish surroundings.  Everyone was dressed to the nines as they sipped champagne and boasted about the “magnificent turn out of [this] charity” or the “carefully chosen committee for [that] event.”  The children, _light of their lives as they were_ , were kept well away from the main hall since this was a “grown-up affair that would hardly suit them.”  This meant that the nannies, and any members of the mayor’s staff that could be spared, were charged with entertaining the children in another part of the house in hopes that no tantrums would be thrown before the night was through.

The playroom’s amenities had been somewhat remodeled since the last time she stepped foot in it.  The ping pong table, thankfully, was still there—a pastime she excelled at as a child—but the theatrical stage was now gone and replaced with a flat screen TV where two kids were playing an intense round of Guitar Hero.  She missed that stage.  The very thought of it had conjured up a memory of her father’s roaring laughter.  She could see him now, applauding as she and Wells bowed after performing their rendition of “It’s The Hard-Knock Life”.

Jake Griffin was never as interested in mingling and consorting with high society as his wife was, so his priority at these social events was to ensure Clarke and Wells were in good company.  They used to have so much fun together, the three of them—making ice cream sundaes in the kitchen or putting all the organs in their correct places in the human anatomy model he brought home from the hospital.  Being a doctor was, admittedly, in Clarke’s DNA, but her father at least recognized that she didn’t have those aspirations because of them.  She wanted to be a doctor because she wanted to make a difference, one life at a time.

“Think we should school these kids in a game of ping pong?” came a familiar voice behind her as she observed the children from the doorway.  His question was so cursory, as if they had talked every day.

And, sure, there was a time when they did.

Any happy memory they might’ve shared, however, was now buried in a dark, cavernous abyss.  She turned to face Wells and sighed, wearied by his efforts.  Seeing as he wasn’t of a mind to give up anytime soon, she decided to get this confrontation over with.  “What do you want, Wells?  Because if you’re here to ask for my forgiveness again, it’s not gonna happen.  Not when I look at your face and see your father staring back at me.  You’re just like him.”

“That’s not fair.”  Wells massaged the bridge of his nose.  “Clarke, if you only understood…” 

Bellamy once tried to convince Clarke that hearing Wells’ side of the story might give her the closure she needed.  There were still a handful of unanswered questions surrounding her father’s death, and though she could never forgive Wells’ actions, maybe she could at least accept that it happened and that there was nothing she could’ve done to stop it.  So, Clarke yielded, allowing him more than enough time to finish his sentence.

To no avail.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking to expect anything more from him.  Every encounter between them over the last five years resulted in tight lips the moment Jake Griffin was mentioned.  And why wouldn’t she bring him up?  Clarke couldn’t forget the past as easily as Wells seemed to.  For as much as he tried to make amends, he really wasn’t trying very hard.

“Understand what?” she finally asked, her irritation growing at an alarming rate.  “That my best friend was a coward all along?  That it was easier for him to run to daddy instead of believing that my father was just trying to do the right thing?  Oh, I understand just fine.”

“It’s not like that, Clarke!” The timber of his voice rose as if more words itched to come out, but he held them back, his thoughtful gaze unwavering.  “I cared about him, too.  He was like a friend and a mentor to me.”

Clarke drew in all the air from her lungs and released it unsteadily.  “I’m sorry, Wells, but I don’t believe you.  And until you’re ready to be completely honest with me about your betrayal—about why you sacrificed your moral code to suit your father’s greed—we have nothing else to say to each other.”  Her shoulder brushed his forcefully, unleashing all the pent up hostility she could muster, before storming off.

Talking to Wells had made her temper rise.  Seeing her mother laugh at something Thelonius Jaha said made it skyrocket.  Being surrounded by crooked politicians and untrustworthy ex-friends was downright suffocating and Clarke needed to get out.  Pulling her mother aside, she feigned being light-headed (“Too much champagne, I guess.”) and called the nearest cab to take her home.

Upon arrival, Clarke immediately unzipped her constricting party dress and swapped it for a pair of sweatpants and that ridiculously spirited sweater Octavia got her from Goodwill last Christmas. She made a little nest for herself on the couch and put on _It’s a Wonderful Life_.  “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

 

 

**February 2006**

There was this charm bracelet in the window of a department store that Bellamy must’ve passed a dozen times, and every time a small part of him contemplated going in and purchasing it.

In the end, he didn’t, after reminding himself repeatedly that Clarke was not his girlfriend and that giving her a $50 bracelet for Valentine’s Day would have her questioning the status of their relationship.

A relationship that couldn’t exist since she was still dating that Finn character.

Finn.  Even his name sounded pretentious.  He hadn’t met the guy yet—nor was he able to scope him out on the web after Clarke mentioned that he didn’t believe in Myspace or Facebook because “they allowed people to be too far removed from reality”—which made it hard for him to discern whether this Finn character was good enough for Clarke.  He initially believed that no one was, but if Bellamy couldn’t be with her, he wanted her to at least be with someone who could make her happy. 

Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and though, normally, Bellamy would condemn the commercialized romanticism this holiday represented, he hoped Finn was the type of guy to have something special planned for her.  Clarke deserved that much.  After everything she has been through, Clarke deserved to have someone express—no matter how great or small the gesture—how much they cared about her. 

Bellamy had learned a lot about Clarke in the last six months; most importantly, her tendency to isolate herself from loved ones (i.e. moving several states north to go to college).  He knew she had her reasons—fear of loss, trust issues, a suffocating mother, to name a few—but knowing these truths only strengthened his resolve to protect her and remind her as often as possible how truly amazing she was.

Which brought him back to the bracelet in the window.

She would’ve loved that tiny piece of jewelry.  He knew the moment he saw it—sterling silver with different colored charms that represented each of the nine planets.  It was pretty yet otherworldly, and it suited Clarke perfectly.  Picking out jewelry was not one of Bellamy’s many talents, but a single look in that department store window told him that bracelet would look radiant wrapped around her pale, elegant wrist.

Feeling too far removed from reality himself, Bellamy pulled a book off of his shelf to distract him from thoughts of Clarke's wrist and, well, just Clarke in general.  He made it through two chapters of _On the Road_ by Jack Kerouac before sleep overtook him and thoughts of of a blonde beauty smiling brightly lay siege to his dreams.

 

\-----

 

The next morning, Bellamy awoke to the sound of glass breaking.  He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dark so they could focus on his digital alarm clock.  The neon green numbers read 5:21am.

All of his senses went on high alert.  Octavia would never voluntarily wake up this early and they didn’t own any pets, which only left him with one troubling alternative: they had an intruder.

Bellamy scanned his room for an object to arm himself with, quickly deciding on the wall sconce closest to the door.  He made a mental note to take his hockey stick out of storage—you know, if he made it out of this alive.

Turning the doorknob slowly in an attempt to make as little noise as possible, Bellamy opened his door just enough to stick his head through.  Their conjoined living room and kitchen space was small, so he made quick work of inspecting the poorly lit area before his eyes settled on a petite figure faintly cursing at the coffee maker before bending down to pick up the remaining pieces of her broken cup.

“Octavia?”

The brunette whipped her head up at the sound of her name, looking very much like a doe in the headlights when she spotted her older brother.  “Oops.  Sorry, did I wake you?”

Bellamy came out of the doorway, waving his makeshift weapon in the air.  “A bit.  Jesus, O! I thought you were a burglar.  I could’ve killed you!”

Octavia glanced at the object in his hand with a quizzical brow.  “With a cheap wall ornament?  Not likely.”

“What the hell are you even doing up?” he asked, ignoring her snide comment.  “Last time you were up before the sun was Christmas morning…when you were nine.”

“Oh, you know, the early bird catches the worm,” she replied, biting her lip and doing a terrible job of convincing Bellamy of her sincerity.

Bellamy knew he would never win 'guardian of the year' but there was one parental undertaking he had easily perfected.  Donning his best 'disapproving father' look, he waited silently until the truth eventually spilled out of Octavia.  “Okay, fine.  There’s somewhere I need to be, in which case I kind of need to borrow your truck, but I wasn’t planning on asking only because I didn’t want to wake you, and I knew you weren’t working today so I figured it would be all right, but now you’re awake so can I borrow it for a little while?”

She was still being vague—and rambling a bit more than usual—which caused Bellamy to remain suspicious of her intentions.  “Define ‘a little while’.”

Octavia rolled her eyes.  “Like, barely 18 hours—depending on traffic, of course.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened and then narrowed with alarming alacrity.  “Hmm, let me think about that for a minute: no.”  He made a start for his room, ready to return to his much needed sleep.  He did have the day off, and those rare days were usually reserved for burrowing under the covers and hibernating until his stomach alerted him of the need for sustenance.

“Oh, come on, Bell!” she whined, stomping her foot like a petulant child.

“Let me rephrase that: there is no way in hell I’m letting you take my truck to go gallivanting God knows where for an entire day.  Period.”

Octavia folded her arms across her chest defiantly, standing her ground.  “I’m not gallivanting.  This is a matter of life and death!”

Bellamy was about to close his door but decided to humor her.  “Alright, who’s dying then?”

“Okay,” she drawled out, staring at her feet, “so maybe that was an exaggeration, but I do have a legitimate reason even if you think it’s stupid.”

Bellamy sighed.  “Try me.”

She huffed indignantly.  “It’s Clarke, okay?  Last night she was crying to me over the phone because she broke up with Finn and even though she said she was fine by the end of our conversation, I just didn’t want her to be alone on Valentine’s Day, you know?  Nobody deserves that.”

Except it wasn’t just _nobody_.  It was Clarke.

It surprised Bellamy how quickly he was ready to take action on this matter, and it surprised him even more how well he hid this gusto--this sudden and presumptuous need to rescue Clarke--from his sister.  Octavia didn’t know about his recurrent talks with Clarke, let alone his romantic feelings for her.  That was simply a conversation he wasn't ready to have with her just yet.

“I don’t know if you remember how long of a drive that actually is, considering you slept through half of it last time.”  Keeping up the pretense, Bellamy dragged his fingers lazily through his hair and gave Octavia an exasperated look.  “And I don’t think I need to remind you how furious I was the last time you forgot to put the transmission into neutral before switching gears.”

Exasperation must have been hereditary as Octavia’s agitated gaze narrowed on Bellamy.  “Oh my god!  That was one time!  You’re the one with the stupid double-clutch truck.  Manual transmissions aren’t cool anymore, Bell.  Come to think of it, they never were.”

“Well, complain all you want, but, at the moment, my stupid truck is all you’ve got.  And I can’t risk you abusing our only means of transport, so let me get changed and then we can go.”

Octavia readied herself for a retort, until she processed his words.  “Wait,” she said, mouth agape.  “You’re…you’re coming?”

“Do I have any other option?  Just give me five minutes, okay?”  He remembered who they were going to see and thought it wouldn't hurt to put in a little more effort than usual.  “Actually, make that ten.”

 

\---------

 

Traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as they anticipated, only stopping when necessary to ensure a timely arrival, and yet it felt like the longest road trip Bellamy had ever endured.  Why weren’t they there yet?  Why wasn’t he comforting Clarke right at this very moment?

Though he anticipated Finn’s demise from a mile away, Bellamy was not one for “I told you so”—especially since he didn’t have the gall to tell Clarke her relationship wouldn’t last.  Octavia was right.  Valentine’s Day was about being there for the people you cared about, so it was only right for him to step up and be that person for Clarke.

According to Octavia, the facts were these: Finn, who had been dating Clarke for over three months, was already in an established relationship with another woman and chose not to disclose this information to either of them.  Clarke only discovered her role as the unwilling mistress when Finn’s girlfriend caught them canoodling and sharing popcorn at the local $3 movie theater.  A confrontational showdown ensued.

Poor Clarke.  Poor oblivious girlfriend.  The prick was even worse than Bellamy thought.  

When they arrived in Boston, Bellamy pulled up to the front of the somewhat familiar dorm so Octavia could rush to Clarke's aid while he parked.  It wasn’t easy, but he eventually found a non-permit spot a block away. 

He had seen the inside of Greycliff Hall once before, had even been in Clarke’s unfurnished room, but move-in day was many months ago and he could hardly be expected to remember which room belonged to her.  All he did know was that it was on the top floor—a detail that was hard to forget after climbing three flights up those weird, spiral staircases while hefting oversized boxes in his arms.

He wandered the hall in search of clues on the doors, like a name tag or a doodle drawn in her hand (he’s seen enough photos of her drawings to recognize her craftsmanship).  In the end, it was a dry erase board that gave her location away.  On the white board was a message written in a sloppy scrawl:

Clarke, I’m so sorry. Please call me. - Finn

 _Fat chance, Pal._  Using the sleeve of his jacket, Bellamy wiped the message clean.  The action, however, pushed the unlatched door open a smidge further and that was when he saw her.

Sitting on her bed across from Octavia, Clarke's shoulders slumped, a look of unending despondency marring her features.  Her blonde locks were held up in a messy bun and she was wearing a pair of sweatpants that seemed several sizes too big for her, which somehow—

Made Clarke look even more beautiful than the last time he saw her.  Perhaps the old adage was true: absence _really_ does make the heart grow fonder.

Bellamy stood there, watching her from the crack in her door, and realized his folly a moment too late when a pair of indigo eyes unearthed his hiding spot.  There was no turning back now. 

“Hey, Princess,” he announced instinctively upon entering the room, because adding insult to injury was his signature move when thrust into an emotionally-charged situation that he didn't know how to solve (just ask Octavia).  _Good job, Bellamy…that’s exactly what Clarke needs in her life right now_ , he thought, disparagingly.

Octavia groaned.  “Oh, yeah.  Sorry, Clarke, but I was obligated to bring him along.”

He'd be lying if he said he knew what would happen next.

Rising from the bed as if on impulse, Clarke seized forward without delay, finding purchase in Bellamy's frame.  “I can’t believe you’re here."

His momentary shock subsiding, Bellamy returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her lower back and holding on for dear life.  God, he lived for these moments, few and far between as they were.  Underneath the sadness, there was warmth and there was light and he wanted to bask in all of its glory.

“Well, there’s something I thought I’d never see,” Octavia voiced from her spot on the bed—whose presence Bellamy had easily forgotten in the haze of his affection.

Bellamy had no appropriate response for his sister because, in truth, he never was much of a hugger.

“Oh, come on,” Clarke thankfully intervened, turning back to Octavia, “can’t I be excited that two of my favorite people drove all the way up from Virginia to see me?”

Octavia tilted her head to the side.  “He’s your favorite now, huh?  And exactly when did this happen?”

“When you were practically in a coma on our first trip up here and we were forced to make conversation to pass the time.”

“Emphasis on the ‘forced’,” Bellamy added, earning him a playful nudge from Clarke.

Octavia’s gaze shifted between the pair.  The wrinkles on her forehead expressed a certain curiosity tinged with apprehension. If she had more to say on the matter, she wasn't keen on admitting it though.  “Whatever, I’m famished.  I think it’s time for phase two of Clarke’s V-Day surprise, in which Bell and I take you on the best 'date' ever at the fanciest establishment in town.  Time to max out that credit card, bro!”

“Funny how I don’t remember agreeing to this.” 

He left to get the car anyway, so Clarke could have some privacy to change and freshen up a bit.  They ended up at a little diner that Clarke insisted had the best corned beef and cabbage this side of the Atlantic, but a part of Bellamy wondered if she really chose it so that it wouldn’t put a large dent in his bank account.  The cad formerly known as Finn, it is important to note, was never mentioned once, which really made for an altogether enjoyable afternoon.

It wasn’t until the Blakes had said their goodbyes and made the trek back home that Octavia asked what had in all likelihood been on her mind for hours.  “Are you into Clarke?”

Bellamy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and if he was lucky, she didn’t notice.  “We’re just friends, O.  Don’t read into this.  I just like talking to her, that’s all.”

Octavia scoffed.  “Since when do you like _talking_ to girls?”

“Since Clarke,” he replied, after a considerable pause.  It was true though.  Bellamy hadn’t thought of any of his female acquaintances—apart from his sister—as his friend since…hell, since his junior high days.  The women that he usually met were helpful when he needed a temporary reprieve from his lonely, monotonous existence, but that was all they were.  Temporary.

With Clarke it was different.  He knew that first night in Boston that she was meant to be a permanent fixture in his life, which was why he ultimately decided that it was best not to rush things.  He wasn’t going to ask her out, not yet at least.  It wasn’t their time yet, he knew that, but come hell or high water, he would wait as long as it took to finally give Clarke Griffin the Valentine’s Day she deserved.


	5. When You Lose the One You Wanted

**June 2006**

There were a multitude of reasons on this balmy afternoon for Clarke Griffin to be in high spirits.  The warmth of the summer sun prickling her skin as she trekked through the quad back to her dorm room was enough of a mood enhancer, but there were other reasons, to be sure.  

For starters, that Finn fiasco was finally a distant memory, a moment in time she still sorely regretted but no longer needed to dwell on.  

Then there was also the fact that, as of 20 minutes ago, Clarke had finished (and decisively aced) her last exam to round out her first year of college.  As an entering pre-med student at Boston University who only took core requirement classes up until this point, Clarke had already managed to get in good favor with Dr. Wainright, the Dean of the BU School of Medicine.  Having this accomplished woman as a mentor would open many doors for Clarke’s future, proving that nepotism was not her only means of establishing her own practice. 

But there was one reason in particular that made Clarke smile brightly.  The end of a school year meant summer break; summer break meant going home; and going home meant spending two and a half months with a pair of siblings whom she was rather partial toward.

They insisted on helping Clarke relocate her stuff back to Virginia, and were already on their way up.  She couldn’t wait to see Octavia’s elated face, no doubt chomping at the bit to make the best use of their borrowed time together.

And then there was Bellamy. 

Clarke clutched her cheeks in a futile attempt to prevent the heat from rising to her face.

Since their friendship miraculously blossomed nearly a year ago, Clarke had yet to spend any substantial time with him.  Face-to-face, that is.  Their late night convos were far from ceasing and the intimate details of their lives revealed in these conversations strengthened that bond twofold.  It would be an understatement to say that she was looking forward to seeing that adorably-freckled face on a more frequent basis.

After the last of her clothes were boxed up, Clarke received a text from Octavia noting their arrival.  She told them to come on up, opening the door in the process.  She didn’t expect, however, to see Roma on the other side of the door, rifling through her purse for her keys.

“Oh, you’re here,” the tall brunette said as she crossed the threshold to start her own packing.  “Thought you might’ve moved out already.”

As always, Clarke answered cordially.  “I haven’t had a chance until now.  In fact, my friends will be up in a minute to help me move out.  I hope you don’t mind.”

Roma rolled her eyes.  “Whatever.”

Their last day as roommates, oddly enough, would be the first time Clarke invited someone up to their room while Roma was there.  When the Blakes surprised her on Valentine’s Day, Roma was MIA for the better part of a week.  Prolonged absences like that happened on occasion.  And Finn?  Well, Finn preferred meeting her at their ‘secret place’—a conveniently secluded spot off the bike path that curved along the Charles River.  It’s funny how many red flags there were that she was too blind to see at the time.

At this point in their acquaintance, Roma probably thought Clarke didn’t have any friends—a fair assumption considering the number of nights she spent in solitary, pouring over books and notes on her bed.

Clarke had just finished folding the last of her sheets when a pair of arms encircled her waist, holding her hostage.  They weren’t Bellamy’s arms—she realized quickly, and with a hint of remorse.  These arms were slender and surprisingly more forceful.

“Easy on the kung fu grip, O,” Clarke instructed, finding it a bit difficult to breathe.  She managed to turn around in her friend’s stronghold to hug her properly.

“Sorry!  I’m just so glad you’re finally coming home, temporary as that may be.  And to ensure the next two months and 11 days are not wasted, I’ve got the whole summer planned.  You’d actually be pretty proud of me, I wrote up one of those itinerary things and whatnot.  So, time to vamos, Mama.  Grab your shit and let’s haul ass before—”

It was then Octavia discovered the elephant in the room. 

Roma—who decided it was already time for a break after cleaning out one drawer—was propped on the edge of her bed, filing her nails and noticeably assessing the girl that just walked in.  Naturally, tidbits of Clarke’s discordant roommate came up in casual conversation with her closest friends, but Bellamy always took her complaints with a grain of salt since his roommates from his freshman year of college were slobs who often borrowed his stuff without asking.  Roma was fine as far as roommates go, she just didn’t like her much.  Octavia, however, could draw no comparisons apart from her brother (who was not only a model citizen but a model roommate), and therefore, living up to her duties as Clarke's overprotective best friend, had a very decided opinion of Roma.

Clarke was on the verge of introducing the two when Bellamy strode in.  “I come bearing gifts!” he announced with a cheeky grin and waving giant cardboard boxes in the air. 

Good god, he was gorgeous.  It had only been a few months since she last saw Bellamy, so he really shouldn’t have changed since then.  And yet Clarke found herself appraising and finding improvement in all of his physical attributes she adored the most: his tall, lean form, that crooked smile making a crease where his lips and cheek connected, that unruly hair that was in desperate need of a trim—but was still altogether pleasing in an imperfect way. 

And then there were his freckles…

There were no words for what those jutting cheekbones spackled with freckles did to her. She longed for the day she could sketch those features in intimate detail.

Flashing him a returning smile, Clarke's anticipation for summer break to commence began to waver the moment she realized that she wasn't the only person in the room who had eyes for Bellamy.

“Hi,” he greeted with gentlemanlike manners, setting the boxes down and extending his hand toward Roma.  “I’m Bellamy.  You must be Clarke’s roommate.  Roma, right?”

Roma blushed as she took Bellamy’s hand—not quite shaking it, just holding it in place for as long as he allowed it.  “Yeah.  That’s me.  I can’t believe Clarke’s told you about me.  Are you her brother or something?”

“Actually, he’s _my_ brother,” Octavia intervened, stalking toward the girl and readying her talons, if necessary.  “Octavia.  My friends call me O…but you can call me Octavia.”

“Okay,” Roma replied slowly, Octavia’s intimidation tactics already having their desired effect.  “Well, it’s nice to meet you both.  It’s unfortunate that we couldn’t have met sooner.”  This affliction, of course, was directed at Bellamy.  She even pulled out all the stops for him—batting her eyelashes, touching his arm, and unless Clarke was imagining things, she swore Roma was sucking in her breath to make her chest a more prominent focal point.

Seriously?

Clarke was more than ready to put an end to this flirtatious display.  “Well, now that introductions have been made, let’s start loading up your truck.  I wanna make sure we’re on the road at a reasonable hour.”

They managed to take one trip down to Bellamy’s pick-up before Roma felt the need to open her obnoxious mouth again.    “So, where’s home for you guys anyway?”

Since Fredericksbug wasn't a commonly known town in Virginia, Bellamy answered her query with the intent to tell her nearby cities as a frame of reference.

As it turned out, this wasn't necessary.  “Wait, really?  That’s unbelievable!  I'm from Rockville!  Clarke, you mean to tell me that we’ve been roommates for nearly a year and I’m just now finding out that you live a couple towns away from me?  I mean, what are the odds?”

Clarke nodded, her cordial facade masking her growing skepticism toward Roma’s sudden friendliness.  “That is…pretty darn amazing.  Hey, Bell, can you take that box off your sister’s hands?  She thinks she can lift it, but what she doesn’t know is that every single one of my textbooks are in that one.”

Bellamy grunted as he finally got a grip on the box.  “Jesus, Clarke!  These are all your books from just two semesters?  Why the hell are you keeping them anyway?  It’s not like Dr. Griffin here is gonna need to retake any of these classes.”

As if the four of them were already great friends, Roma decided to jump in on the gag.  “Yeah, with the amount of studying I saw her do this year, I'm surprised her professors didn't just tell her that she was exempt from the final exams.  She probably could've still kept her 4.0 GPA.”  What concerned Clarke the most was that it looked as if Bellamy was buying into it.  “Here, why don’t you let me help bring some stuff downstairs?”

Clarke replied hastily.  “That’s not necessary.”

Her guard dog, Octavia, jumped in as well.  “Yeah, that’s _really_ not necessary.”

Bellamy, however, took the civil approach.  “I’m sure you have your own packing to do.”

“I’m in no rush,” Roma said with a shrug.  “My sister’s not coming to get me till tomorrow afternoon so I’ve got some time to kill.  Plus, it’s the least I could do for Clarke.  You know, as a thank you for being such an amazing roommate during my first year away from home.”

By now, Clarke was ready to call bullshit.  Roma was obviously lying about her relationship with Clarke just to get Bellamy to like her.  It was deceptive and egotistical and uncivilized, and Clarke had to use all of her willpower not to sock her in the mouth.  It felt like a cage match: two women eager and ready to duke it out for the heart of a man.

Not to say, of course, that Clarke could win Bellamy, because it wasn't as if he liked her in that way.  They were just friends.  Bellamy was free to be with whoever he wanted. 

“An extra hand would be nice, I guess," Clarke found herself saying, defeat kicking in.  "Thanks, Roma.”

The tall brunette replied with a smile, which almost looked genuine.

“And if we finish early enough,” Bellamy chimed in, “we might be able to grab some food out here before we hit the road.  I’m sure Octavia’s ridiculously fast metabolism has already dissolved the remnants of the two meals she ate today.”

Octavia gripped her stomach instinctively, looking slightly forlorn.  “He’s right.  I could go for a bacon cheeseburger right about now.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, Clarke should take you to Lucille’s.  Their burgers are so juicy and their onion rings are seasoned to perfection.  I swear, they’ve got the best hangover food in town…or so I’m told.”  Roma winked suggestively at Bellamy.

Perhaps Clarke was making a mountain out of a hill, but it almost looked as if Bellamy was trying to suppress a smile.  She could tell by the way his eyes still crinkled at the sides.  “I’m down if you ladies are.  In fact, Roma, unless you have other plans, why don’t you come with us?”

This was exactly the response Roma was hoping for as her eyes began to do that weird fluttery thing again.  “No plans whatsoever.  I’d love to join you.”

It took them another 30 minutes to pack everything up in Bellamy’s 2000 Ford Ranger, and as the Blakes moved some stuff around to make sure everyone would fit inside, Clarke took one final sweep of her room.  What she didn’t know was that Roma had followed her.

“Hey, do you know if like Bellamy has a girlfriend or something?” she asked, uncharacteristically biting her lip.

Clarke froze.  How easily she could lie and this whole thing would end as quickly as it began.  All she had to do was answer yes, and Roma would abandon her pursuits, and then they’d go home, and, in all likelihood, Clarke and the Blakes would never encounter her again.

But deep down she knew that doing so would've been selfish.  The fact of the matter was that if Bellamy did have any feelings for Clarke beyond friendship, he would’ve told her by now.  As painful as it was, Clarke needed to relinquish her hold on him and prove that she was the friend he wanted her to be.

“Not that I know of.  Why?  Do you like him?”

Roma laughed.  “Well, yeah!  I mean, he’s insanely hot!  I’m surprised you're not into him, but then again he is your friend’s older brother so I assume that’s how you see him.  As a brother, I mean.”

“Yeah, something like that.”  Clarke swallowed the rather persistent lump in her throat.  This wasn't going to be easy.  “Look, Bellamy is a really great guy.  I mean it.  He’s one of the good ones.  If you really do like him, I can put in a good word for you.  He kinda listens to me.”

Roma was stunned.  “Really?  You’d do that?  I mean, I know we didn’t really get along this year, but I meant it when I said you were a good roommate.  You didn’t annoy me half as much as the other girls on this campus.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

After returning her key, Clarke headed for the truck with Roma in tow, the pair of them smiling.  Of course, Clarke would never reveal that hers was a mask to hide the insurmountable pain in her chest.

There were a multitude of reasons for Clarke to be in high spirits today…but this was not one of them.


	6. ...And Everything You Had Got Destroyed

**August 2006**

Exactly one year after the excursion that would change his life, Bellamy felt a sense of déjà vu as he grudgingly loaded Clarke’s belongings into a truck to take her back to Boston University.  The trip was the same, the reluctance to make that trip was the same, but his reasons for not wanting to were entirely different.

Bellamy had made a promise though and, if anything, he was a man of his word.

Much to his dismay, Octavia’s careful study in the art of procrastination prevented her from finding someone to cover her shift at the Sugar Shack, which meant Bellamy would be trapped in his truck with Clarke—alone—for the next eight hours.

Two and a half months ago this would’ve seemed like a providential arrangement, because two and a half months ago Clarke was still talking to him.  Something in Clarke changed the day they helped her move out of her dorm, the day she prompted Bellamy to ask out her roommate.  Hell, perhaps something changed in him too.

Roma was uncommonly pretty—the type of girl he would’ve consorted with during his minor stint in college—and she was not shy about making her own feelings known, but their interaction had been brief and not substantial enough for him to form any lasting attachment.

Not the way he did a year ago on that first trip to Boston.

Nevertheless, Bellamy acted on Clarke’s suggestion.  He exchanged numbers with Roma before they left BU, and Octavia was officially calling her his ‘girlfriend’ a few weeks later.  For much of the summer he was either visiting Roma in Rockville or convincing her to drive down to peruse the grounds in Old Town with him because that’s what Clarke wanted him to do, right?

Then why did she blatantly ignore him all summer?  Why was she still glaring daggers at the windshield of the U-Haul truck?

Clarke rented a moving truck this time since she opted out of staying in the dorms.  She decided the roommate experience was ‘overrated’ and found a little studio apartment off campus that would suit her needs.  According to Octavia, Clarke had some office hours lined up at the School of Medicine so she could manage rent without being indebted to her mother.

It was odd for Bellamy, getting second-hand news about Clarke.  What changed between them?  Why was it so hard to go back to the way they were?

In truth, he didn’t necessarily want to go back to the way things were.  He wanted more.  Clarke’s role as matchmaker, however, proved once and for all that they didn’t want the same things.  This was something that, with time, he could accept.  What he couldn’t accept, though, was not being Clarke’s friend.  He missed her so fucking much.  He missed her laugh, he missed hearing the optimism in her voice as she spoke of her future in medicine (she was already developing plans to open a free clinic in Virginia), and, most of all, he missed talking with her about everything and absolutely nothing until the sun started to peak out from the horizon to signal a new day.

There simply had to be some way for Bellamy to find that part of Clarke he knew was still in there, but if a cross country road trip couldn’t do it, he wasn’t sure what would.

“O’s really bummed she couldn’t come,” he finally said, voice thunderous against the silence.  Small talk sucked, but it was better than eight hours of nothing.  “I know she was looking forward to checking out your new place.”

Clarke nodded.

Yep.  This was going to be a _very_ long drive.

\-----

They stopped midday at the same diner in Philadelphia.  Old habits and whatnot.

Clarke refused to look up from her menu—perhaps to avoid conversation, he wasn’t entirely sure.  She was a lot harder to read these days.

When the waitress returned with their drinks, he ordered the patty melt while she went with tuna on rye.

“Excuse me,” he said, stopping the waitress before she left, “is that just tuna or tuna salad.”

“I believe it’s tuna salad.”

“Does the tuna salad have celery in it?  Cuz she’s allergic.”

The waitress—Maureen, if the pin on her uniform was anything to go by—tapped her pen against her chin thoughtfully.  “You know what, darling, that’s a good question.  Let me check on that for you.”

Bellamy nodded his thanks, but was surprised when he turned around to find Clarke staring at him—for what was probably the first time in weeks, months even.  “Thanks,” she said, lacking the gusto that was normally present in her voice.  “I forgot.  I must’ve been…distracted.  I can’t believe you even remembered that.”

He shrugged.  “I remember everything you tell me.”  Like how going out with another girl would apparently have no effect on her whatsoever.

Clarke was fidgeting with her napkin now, a familiar Clarke-ism that told him something else was on her mind.  “Do you also remember when we agreed to have no boundaries between each other?”

“How could I forget,” he replied, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips.  “That was one of my favorite Thanksgivings to date…and not because the Jack and cokes were free.”

His attempt to lighten the mood had failed.  Instead, the worry lines on Clarke’s forehead grew more pronounced, causing Bellamy to muse over where this conversation might lead.

“I broke that agreement.”

The understatement of the year.  Not speaking for months sort of alerted him to that fact.  Bellamy wasn’t one to stoke the fire though.  Instead, he played the role of concerned friend effortlessly.  “Clarke, what’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she eventually replied—a complex answer to what he assumed was a rather simple question.  “Everything is just wrong and it’s all my fault.  God, Bell, I treated you so horribly this summer.  I alienated you, I refused to tell you why you were the target of my anger, and yet you _still_ agreed to drive me all the way up to Boston.  I just…I don’t deserve you.”

This was his opportunity to finally get the truth out of her and he wasn’t going to waste it.  “Listen, Clarke, I’m not gonna pretend that I haven’t noticed a change in you since the start of summer, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this out.  If I’ve done something, I need to know, because the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you.”

Her eyes brimmed with the threat of tears.  A frown then manifested with such disturbing ease that his instinctive reaction was to climb into her side of the booth and hold her and tell her that everything would be all right.  But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?  Nothing was certain, especially without knowing what created this rift between them.

“The thing is, you didn’t do anything wrong.  Not directly, anyway.  I took it out on you, but I guess I only have myself to blame. It was pathetic and selfish of me.”

“What was?”  Her hesitancy was still there, a fear in making her thoughts known to him, but they were too far into it now.  He had to know.  “No boundaries, Clarke, remember?”  Reaching out, Bellamy took her hand in his.

Clarke wasn’t one for emotional public displays—uncomfortable with the concept of drawing unwanted attention—but as she looked down at their clasped hands, the frayed edges of her mind slowly unraveled.  “Fine.  You asked for it.  The truth is that I kinda got used to having you in my life—whenever I wanted—and I didn’t know that it would change once you…once you got a girlfriend.  I just wasn’t prepared for it, that’s all.”

They were both silent for a moment, processing the weight of her words.

“See,” she added.  “Selfish.”

Bellamy’s thumb began to involuntarily caress the back of her hand.  It was an act that felt so natural, it almost felt like he was wired this way—programmed to comfort Clarke whenever she needed it.  “For the record, I didn’t want it to change.  You were the one who insisted that I should go out with Roma.”

”Yeah, well, for the record,” she retaliated, pulling her hand away from his grasp, “I don’t even like Roma.”

Not at all the response he was expecting.  “Since when?”

“Since always.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then why did you want me to date her?”  
  
“I don’t know!”  A few of the diner patrons turned their heads at Clarke’s sudden outburst.  Even Maureen looked a little uneasy when she delivered their food (sans celery).

They ate in silence after that, the awkward tension from earlier returning full force.

\-----

Amazingly, they managed to make it all the way to Boston without speaking on the matter any further.  Talk radio became their anchor—a distraction from their own troublesome thoughts—as they listened to developments on the Security Council’s resolution to end violence in Lebanon or the Federal Reserve rates hold and its positive effects on the housing market.  Their exchange of words was brief, Bellamy asking if the AC was too cold (she shook her head) and Clarke later giving him directions to her new apartment.

The space she rented out was nice—smaller than her wealthy upbringing should’ve afforded, but that was Clarke after all.  Stubborn as hell and determined to make it on her own.

They were positioning her mattress on the bedframe when Clarke lost her grip and jammed her finger in the corner.  “Son of a bitch!”

Without pause, Bellamy walked around the bed to inspect her hand.  “Here, let me take a look.”

“I’m fine!” she yelled, shoving him away.

If Bellamy was the camel, this was the straw that finally broke his back.  “Damn it, Clarke!  Stop acting like I’m the bad guy here.  You did this, not me!  If this is still about Roma, I asked her out because _you_ told me to.  And the only reason I spent the whole summer with her was because _you_ were avoiding _me_.   I thought you wanted space, so I gave it to you.”

Clarke clenched her pulsing finger as she carefully scrutinized the expression on his face.  She had to know he was telling the truth.  She had to understand that if he knew how she felt about his relationship with Roma, this summer would’ve turned out a whole lot differently.

“I never wanted space from you.  I was actually looking forward to this break because, well, phone calls are great and all, but being in the same room with you isn’t the same as pretending you’re there.”  A facet of their relationship he was in complete agreement with.  “And I’m sorry for the way I treated you.  Honestly, I don’t even know why I did what I did.  It wasn’t fair of me to act that way, especially considering you didn’t freak out when I dated Finn.”

Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek to hold his tongue.

“I wish I had a better answer for you,” she continued, “but since summer is over and a new semester’s about to begin, I’d like to start over, if that’s okay with you.  God, Bell, I miss our friendship like crazy.  I don’t want anything to ever jeopardize that again, so if you’re really happy with Roma, I’m willing to—”

“I’m not still dating Roma,” Bellamy interjected.  He watched the shock and surprise transform every feature on her face.

Her counter came out a bit stunted.  “What?”

“Yeah, we broke up like two weeks ago.”

“Are you...are you kidding me?” Clarke asked, looking murderous.  She closed the distance between them and jabbed her finger at his chest—wisely, not using her injured one.  “You mean to tell me that this whole awkward trip was based on something that doesn’t even exist anymore?”

Perhaps Bellamy was enjoying this a bit too much, but his resulting grin was unavoidable.  “Hey, I would’ve told you shortly after it happened if, you know, you would’ve talked to me for longer than a minute.”

Clarke huffed.  She was still mad but Bellamy could see the moment the wheels in her head began turning as she tried to make sense of his logic.  He knew he was right.  All the tension and drama built up between them would never have come to pass if they just talked like they used to.  Not to say that he wasn’t at least partially to blame.  At the beginning of his relationship with Roma, when he thought Clarke wanted space from him, he was eager to show how easily he could agree to it.  Roma only lived an hour away, but visiting her two to three times a week was sort of overkill and, honestly, just an excuse to prove that he could do just fine without Clarke in his life.

Newsflash: he couldn’t.

“How fucked up are we, huh?” she finally asked, sitting down on her bare mattress.

He joined her, using her calm demeanor as an opportunity to finally get a look at that finger.  It wasn’t swollen, but the nail started to bruise a bit.  He thought about getting ice for her until he remembered that the fridge wasn’t even plugged in yet, so he stayed put, reluctant to let go of her hand.

“I wouldn’t say that we’re fucked up, only that we’re painfully alike.”  She inched closer to him—shoulder brushing shoulder—which he gratefully took as a final peace offering.  “We’re both stubborn to a fault,”—she laughed—“and I’m sure that coupled with the loss we’ve both endured has made it a bit difficult to let people into our lives.”

“By that definition,” she started, now resting her head on his shoulder, “we should understand each other better than anyone else.  It’s weird.  It’s like we’re perfect for each other yet simultaneously the worst match in history.”

Bellamy didn’t see it that way.  Sure, they’d butt heads occasionally, but any successful relationship had its pitfalls.  He truly believed they could make it work if she would just give them a chance, but that conversation was one boundary he refused to cross.  Not when it meant potentially losing her completely.

He rose from the bed, feeling the absence of her warmth almost immediately.  “We should finish unpacking.  There’s still a lot more stuff to bring up.”

She nodded but made no indication to move.  As he headed for the door to unlock the truck, she called out to him.  “Hey, Bellamy?”  He turned, giving her his undivided attention.  “I miss us.  Are we okay now?”

It may not have been all that he dreamed, but it was enough.  He’d take what he’d get from the blonde goddess that was Clarke Griffin.  Bellamy smiled.  “We’ll always be okay, Princess.”

By the time Clarke’s stuff was safely in her new (temporary) home, the hour was late, which meant driving home in that U-Haul in the middle of the night—alone—was really going to suck.

Fortunately, Clarke’s stubbornness rose to the occasion and she wouldn’t take no for an answer when she offered him the couch for the night.  Bellamy accepted it gratefully, which prompted her to order take out while he hooked up the cable box.  They put on a cheesy movie and ate Thai food out of cartons on the couch.  It reminded him of old times, only more tangible.

Halfway through the movie, Clarke asked him a question.  “So, out of curiosity, why did you guys break up?”

There were several reasons why, but only one he was willing to admit.  “Honestly?  She hates baseball.”

 

 


	7. I've Come Untied 'Cause We're Flashing By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I kinda really love this chapter, but maybe that's just me. Still a long way to go (slow burn's my style, sorry everyone), but things should start stirring up soon. Let me know what you think of this one! Toodles.

**December 2006**

_A watched pot never boils_.

Aurora Blake was fond of metaphors and idioms, but she must’ve said that one to her children at least a hundred times.  They were always eagerly anticipating the next birthday party or holiday, rarely taking a moment to enjoy the present and all that it offered

Bellamy never pretended to be the perfect child.  He knew he was impetuous and impatient, and perhaps it took his mother’s unexpected death for him to finally grow up and take responsibility for himself (and for his family).  It was only then that her words truly resonated with him.

_A watched pot never boils._

As a kid, time seemed infinite.  Every milestone he hoped to accomplish was a lifetime away—getting his license, losing his virginity (bless you, Mandy Valcato), graduating, turning 21—but now those milestones were just a distant memory.  So, what was next for Bellamy Blake?  What could he possibly hope to accomplish now?

Eight months ago, Bellamy turned 25.  As he woke that morning to a giddy Octavia ambushing him in bed and ruining his wish to sleep in just so she could sing “Happy Birthday” loudly and very off key, only one thought entered his brain: _I wonder how much this will reduce my car insurance premium?_

Apparently, this was what it meant to grow up.  He spent more time figuring out tax deduction benefits and refinancing his IRA than doing the things he still wanted to do, like traveling and spending time with his friends and, okay, spending even _more_ time with the petite blonde that constantly plagued his thoughts.

Bellamy’s reunion with Clarke was so fresh in his mind that it must have happened just a few days ago; except August had already come and gone, and in the blink of an eye winter was in its place. With winter came frigid air, blistering winds, and a frosting of snow that blanketed the rooftops and front lawns of every house in Fredericksburg.

Winter was a source of great conflict within Bellamy.  He loved the cold, the slight burn that pierced his lungs as he took a deep breath of the crisp, clean air.  He especially loved sleeping in it, cocooning himself in so many blankets that hibernation became a distinct possibility.  However, the resulting snow was a different story.  The first snowfall was always a sight, refined and serene as it fell from the hazy clouds above, but before long white crystals became piles of grey slush along curbsides and, when not properly salted, the residual snow on the asphalt turned to ice.  Slick roads in the winter were among Bellamy’s least favorite things.  His truck had four-wheel drive and could easily manage icy terrains, but the rest of the town’s population drove like cautious teenagers and it was a wonder his road rage never got the best of him.

Using some extra vacation days over the Christmas holiday was precisely what Bellamy needed.  A workaholic by trade (and necessity), Bellamy seldom understood the power of a much needed break until the moment he actually got to sit down and enjoy it.  He liked his job well enough—it paid the bills and kept him as close to his architectural dream job that he could get without a degree—but it involved a lot of manual labor and strategic restructuring, taking a toll on him physically and mentally.

Octavia was a saint, doing most of the tree trimming and compulsory baking of Christmas cookies herself.  This left Bellamy to his own devices, lounging in sweatpants on his recliner and nursing a beer or two…or four.  Clarke even stopped by after her family obligations—prompting a quick change into jeans the moment Octavia mentioned her impending arrival—so they could exchange gifts and watch _A Christmas Story_ together.  Her violet eyes lit up like the sky as she unwrapped the periodic table poster he got her, which then provoked an attempt to recite all the elements chronologically.  Octavia groaned, probably having been subjected to this before, but Bellamy’s gaze only grew fonder.  Clarke looked so adorably proud of this nerdy talent of hers that it reminded him of his own passions, of historic landmarks and the bold leaders that shaped these great nations.  She had her science, he had his history.  Perhaps, one day, they could be nerds _together_.

His sister tried, in vain, to convince Clarke to stay with them for the rest of her break—a suggestion that bore no flaws, in Bellamy’s humble opinion—but there was no use convincing Clarke of anything once her mind was made up.  Her relationship with her mother had recently made new headway and Bellamy knew that she was anxious to discover what that meant.  Clarke hugged them both affectionately and said she’d see them on New Year’s. 

On the bright side, it was only a week away, which meant Bellamy didn’t have to wait several months before seeing her again.  They planned to meet up at Monty Green’s Baller New Year’s Eve Bash, an event Octavia highly anticipated since the demise of his annual End of Summer Bash a year and a half ago.  Apparently Monty was able to throw all these open bar ragers because his parents were frequently away on business.  It seemed like the kid was taking sporadic abandonment rather well.

Bellamy really only knew Monty and his best friend, Jasper, in passing—including rumors that they sold the finest pot in Fredericksburg—so he was shocked to not only get a personal invite but also a few for his friends as well.  The shock, however, dissipated the moment their intentions were known.  Jasper’s usual liquor contacts were gone for the holidays and since none of their friends would be turning 21 until (at least) next year, they decided to put all their faith in someone they hardly knew: Octavia’s older brother.

Now, Bellamy wasn’t all too fond of breaking the law—he never allowed Octavia to so much as swipe a beer from the fridge—so, perhaps Monty and Jasper’s faith was misguided.  He was entirely prepared to say no, Octavia taking on the role of dejected teen and the boys practically throwing themselves (and their money) at his feet.  It wasn’t until the voice of reason, Clarke Griffin, called and reminded him that the cops “are in the pocket of the mayor, and since many of the mayor’s constituents live on Glen Haven Dr., they can pretty much get away with anything short of murder up in those parts.”

It was kind of amazing that someone like Clarke, who spent her whole adolescence surrounded by these elitist assholes, could actually see behind their façade of wealth and power.  She was a go-between, someone who had intimate knowledge of how both sides lived, and she was all the wiser for it.

Bellamy came around pretty easily after that, choosing life instead of responsibility for a change, even if it was just for one night.  Miller agreed to tag along because it was his “duty to determine the potential repercussions of his best friend’s frequent correspondence with a certain college sophomore” which was his fancy way of saying he wanted to scope her out.  Murphy merely heard the words ‘open bar’ and decided that “slumming it with a bunch of rich, self-entitled college kids was a hell of a way to end the year.” 

It took an inordinately long time for Bellamy to dress for the occasion—Octavia eventually leaving without him, the party’s provisions in tow—because he was determined to look nice without looking like he was trying too hard.  In the end, he went with his green Henley (Clarke may have mentioned that her favorite color was green, but whatever) and the least wrinkled jeans he owned.

Clarke, as always, looked breathtaking, which hardly took any effort on her part.  Her eyes sparkled like sapphires whenever she wore blue and it was quickly becoming his favorite color on her.  There was also a newfound bounce to her blonde locks and a few other notable modifications such as longer eyelashes and glossy pink lips.  Bellamy liked to think these efforts were made for him, but that, of course, was just wishful thinking.

He made informal introductions between old friends and new.  Murphy expressed no further interest in engaging Clarke apart from giving her a once over, but Miller easily fell into step with her candid observations and witty banter.  Clarke had such a knack for socializing, even with strangers, which really only paved the way for her bright future as a doctor.  She was the best of both of her parents—great with people, like her father, and a wealth of pertinent knowledge, like her by-the-book mother.

“So, Miller, what is it you do?” Clarke asked, taking a sip of the root beer Bellamy got for her.  She received a couple eye rolls for that one, but it didn’t deter her from wanting to stay sober tonight.

“Actually,” he started, flashing a side-eye toward Bellamy, “I work for the same construction company he does.  He’s ‘technically’ my boss, but I try not to remind him of that fact or else his ego might implode.”

Clarke laughed.  “Yeah, I can see that.  I mean, I haven’t really witnessed it first hand, but Octavia’s spun a tale or two.”

Miller cocked a brow.  “Did she tell you about that time he got into it with the historian at the White Oak Museum?”

“Are we really doing this right now?” Bellamy asked, giving both Clarke and Miller tired looks.  “Are we really spending New Year’s swapping stories at my expense?”

Clarke ignored him.  “Is that the time he argued that the Civil War canon on display wasn’t labeled properly?”

Bellamy nodded absently.  “Yep, we’re doing this.”

“Oh, man, it was hilarious!  The guy claimed it was a replica cannon from the 1st Connecticut Artillery and Bell was all ‘well, that’s highly unlikely since that artillery was much larger and made for fixed formation whereas this cannon was meant for infantry and cavalry purposes’.”

“For the record,” Bellamy articulated, “It was a 12-pound Napoleon, which any Civil War historian should be able to recognize from the flared muzzle-swell.  Napoleons simply weren’t used in the 1st Connecticut Artillery.  Howitzers, maybe, but the 24-pounders, and definitely not a 12-pounder.”

Clarke and Miller were stunned into silence before they both simultaneously burst into laughter.  No, it wasn’t laughter—they were cackling.  This is what he gets for showing his true colors.

Miller slapped him on the back.  “Dude,” he started, trying to catch his breath, “we’re all very impressed with your military history knowledge, but sometimes you might want to tone it down a notch.  And I positively would not recommend using that as a pick-up line.”

“I don’t know.”  Clarke found her bearings easier than Miller did, smiling amorously at Bellamy.  “I kinda thought it was adorable.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes to mask the blush he felt coming on.  “Well, adorable or not, I don’t think I want to be privy to any more ‘Sideshow Bellamy’ stories, so I’m gonna go in search of some non-invasive diversions.  Have fun, you two.”  They didn’t try and stop him, already finding a new topic to entertain them.

Bellamy wandered the expansive yet crowded basement taking liberal swigs of his Sam Adams—another advantage to being in charge of the booze supply (none of that PBR shit college kids drink).  Murphy was chatting up a pretty co-ed by the pinball machine (Harper, was it?) and failing miserably by the looks of things.

Being orphaned at a young age, the poor guy had a tendency to overcompensate his shortcomings and often fell prey to the cocky asshole trope.  In truth, when Murphy wasn’t trying to impress anyone or live up to this self-indulgent persona he created for himself, he was a half-decent guy.  It was partially why Bellamy wasn’t ready to give up on him just yet.  Murphy just needed to find his purpose in life, and when he did, Bellamy wanted to be there to help him achieve it.

The next stop was the game room, which was a mistake since he immediately got roped into playing three rounds of Wii Tennis against Jasper.  It’s not that Bellamy was a poor sport, only that he never even played a game of _real_ tennis, so how was he expected to know how to master the game in one sitting with a virtual remote for a racket?  Give him a baseball and a bat and he’ll show these punk kids what a real competition looks like.

The crowd only got louder and more intoxicated as midnight approached.  It also took all his strength not to beat up the guy making out with Octavia in the stairwell.  These impulses were something he’d been working on controlling since the last time he interfered with one of her dates she didn’t speak to him for a whole week.

Overall, everyone seemed to be having a good time…except for Clarke…who he suddenly realized was nowhere to be seen.  They were a couple minutes away from ringing in 2007 and Bellamy was anxious to be in that moment with Clarke, to witness the start of a new year with her.

Maybe the countdown would end in a kiss.  Or a hug.  Yeah, he’d totally be okay with a hug.

But it was starting to look like neither would happen as Monty and Jasper got all eyes to focus on the large TV screen in the corner.

“Alright, guys!  Here we go!  Ten!”

Their voices were in unison.

“Nine!”

Champagne flutes and beer bottles were poised in the air, ready to share their first toast of a brand new year.

“Eight!”

Bellamy didn’t have the heart to chant along.  A feeling of dread and regret washed over him as he began to wonder why it was so important for him to see Clarke right here, right now.

“Seven!”

Should there be a reason?

“Six!”

He pretty much always wanted to see Clarke, so why should he need a reason now?

“Five!”

A tap on his shoulder.

“Four!”

Bellamy turned and…

There she was, luminous as ever with her crooked smile and impossibly blue eyes.

“Three!”

He couldn’t look away from her.  The cops could come bursting in right now and he wouldn’t even flinch.

“Two!”

Her gaze was just as palpable.  This was the moment he had been waiting for.  This was when everything between them could change—for good.

“One!  Happy New Year!”

Shouts of joy erupted, followed by noisemakers and clinking glasses.  Party poppers shot strands of multi-colored confetti in all directions, a few purple and green ones landing in Clarke’s hair.  Friends hugged and lovers kissed and everyone took pictures to commemorate the special occasion.  But Bellamy witnessed none of it.  He only saw her.

There was a long stretch of seconds, maybe minutes (he was hardly keeping track), where they were both so utterly content with the relative silence they created for themselves.  He caught her glancing down at his lips.  He knew he was doing the same, for much longer than what was deemed appropriate between friends.

Bellamy was starting to lose his nerve.  If he didn’t act now—if he didn’t channel his inner reckless teenager and just kiss her already—he’d miss out on the moment completely.

He started his own mental countdown to build the momentum he needed for what he was about to do.  Ten, nine, eight, seven—

A whir of movement, in the form of two scrawny arms, grabbed Clarke from out of nowhere, almost taking her down in the process.  “It’s 2007, Clarke!  Can you believe it?!”

In an instant, their connection was broken.  Clarke recovered easily, laughing as she removed the goggles from over Jasper’s eyes and rested them against his forehead.  “I know, it’s pretty crazy,” she replied, humoring the inebriated 20 year-old.  “But since your insurance doesn’t cover goggle collision, best keep these things off of your face for the rest of the night.  Okay?”

Jasper giggled through his nose and it was a good thing he had no one to impress at the moment.  “K, Mom.”  He turned to Bellamy and clasped his shoulder—probably for something solid to lean on more than anything else.  “I need to tell you something, brother person of Octavia.”

“Bellamy.”

“Right, Bumblebee,” Jasper corrected, incorrectly.  He burped unceremoniously before getting his feelings off his chest.  “I just—I want you to know that you majorly saved this party cuz this beer is like really good and…you’re my hero, Bumblebee.  Tennis rematch later?”

Bellamy gave him a friendly smile, mimicking his shoulder grab.  “Not a chance in hell, pal.  Now go sober up before you hit that ‘let’s make stupid decisions’ phase.”

Jasper left muttering something resembling “been there, done that”.

They were alone again—well as alone as two people could be in a crowded basement.  He was pretty sure that his window of opportunity had closed and that kiss at midnight (now 12:07am) just wasn’t in the cards for them.

Clarke was playing with the hem of her shirt, signaling her elevating discomfort.  She needed an out, but for some reason couldn’t come up with one.

“I should probably search out Octavia,” he finally said, saving her from further anxiety.  “You know, wish her a happy New Year and all that jazz.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief.  “Um, yeah.  I need to make my rounds, too.”  On the brink of leaving she stopped short.  “You know, I’m strangely looking forward to this year…and I hope I can count on you to be a part of it.”

He smiled—a smile, he had come to learn, that was only reserved for Clarke.  It was a euphoric smile, one you only see in sappy rom-coms and definitely not on the likes of Bellamy Blake, but he was powerless to stop it.

“You betcha, princess.”

He then watched Clarke fight an internal battle with herself, as if she had come to a crossroads and didn’t know which path to take.  She looked at him—really looked at him—then looked down at her feet, and then—without warning—rushed up to kiss him on the cheek.

It was chaste and soft, her hands poised against his shoulders to keep her balance as she stood on her toes to reach him.  “Happy New Year,” she whispered in his ear before flying off in the other direction to find her friends.

A memory suddenly surfaced, of when Octavia was 13 and he was forced to take her to a meet and greet with that boyband phenomenon, NYSNC.  The curly-haired one—the one Bellamy was pretty sure had that decent solo career now—shook Octavia’s hand before signing her CD and it was as if her life had reached its pinnacle.  He’ll never forget the look on her face afterward, the awe she conveyed, as if she was Ganymedes and Zeus himself had plucked her out of obscurity to live amongst the gods with him.  “I’m never washing my hand again,” she said.

It was odd to Bellamy at the time, but he understood now.  His cheek now held a memory—a promise of something more—and in order to preserve that memory, he never wanted to wash it again.

Bellamy was completely oblivious to the fact that Miller had saddled up beside him until his friend started speaking.  “Shit, man.  You really like the girl, don’t you?”

Miller had it all wrong.

He was in love with her.


	8. Look at What You Did to Me

**October 2007**

On Clarke’s 13th birthday, her father gave her a watch.  He said the watch was special, handcrafted in 1918 for soldiers during World War I to synchronize their troop advancements.  It first belonged to her great grandfather, Clarence Griffin, and has since been passed down (with slight modifications made to it) through the Griffin family line.  She asked her father why he was giving it to her now—after all, most precious heirlooms received early in life usually signal an omen of death or abandonment.  He smiled and cupped her cheek in his palm.  “The men who wore this watch before me did some extraordinary things in their time, Clarke.  And you?  Well, you’ve already proven to me what an extraordinary young girl you are.  I believe that watch is exactly where it belongs.”

Jake Griffin’s sentiment fell on deaf ears.  To Clarke, it was just a gold watch, a band of clunky metal that kept the time and frustratingly pulled at the hairs on her wrist whenever she tried to wear it. 

That was then.  But after her father died it became her most prized possession, something she never left the house without.

On Clarke’s 16th birthday, her mother threw her a lavish sweet sixteen party.  It was catered by Le Petite Auburge (she hated French food) and half the town was invited (she didn’t know most of them).  Octavia was there and though they had only known each other a few months, she could already sense that this party was not Clarke’s idea of fun.  Which was why Octavia impulsively snuck Clarke out the window and took her to the drive-in instead.  They watched _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ and sipped on strawberry milkshakes, clinging to each other’s arm every time Freddy appeared.  It was nice, doing something that wasn’t for the betterment of her future, and Octavia became this refreshing addition in her life.  She couldn’t wait to make many more memories like this with her new friend.

On Clarke’s 19th birthday, at best she got a couple of phone calls.  It was to be expected, of course—her first year at college and in a completely different state from her friends and family, no less—but that’s not to say it didn’t hurt, being alone.

Octavia had insisted she would be there to celebrate with her if she “miraculously came into some money or could apparate on the spot like Hermione.”  She also couldn’t leave well enough alone by bringing up the fact that all of this could’ve been avoided if Clarke just went to college in Virginia, but having _that_ conversation wasn’t how she wanted to remember her birthday.  As for Clarke’s mother, well, she was “far too busy to fly to Boston on a whim and, after all, we all have priorities, Clarke, and it’s time you sorted out yours.” 

No surprises there.

Her 20th birthday was a slight improvement over the last, in part because Bellamy was now in her life.  Their budding attachment was so brand new when she turned 19 and she felt awkward about mentioning her birthday to him then.  But he knew now.  So, when a year of friendship passed and October 24th materialized once more, Bellamy, with a little help from Octavia, put together a mixtape (except it was really a CD because who honestly uses cassettes anymore?) of songs that had special meaning to Clarke and reminded her of home.  It was sweet and perhaps she cried a little when her dad’s favorite song “God Only Knows” by The Beach Boys played.  What Clarke appreciated most about their unbelievably thoughtful gift was the message it sent; how even though she now lived amongst a sea of strangers in Boston, she wasn’t alone.  She’d never feel alone as long as the Blakes were in her life.

Now, Clarke was just a few days shy of celebrating a milestone birthday.  Plans were already in effect to save up money for Octavia’s 21st birthday in March so they could all go to Vegas, but nothing had really been said about Clarke’s birthday on account of the distance and everyone’s school/work schedules being out of sync.  Clarke would’ve flown to Virginia herself, if not for the clinical that demanded her daily observation for the next two weeks.

Since Clarke habitually took it easy at Monty’s parties, turning 21 was not only an historic moment for Clarke, but for Octavia as well.  Her mission was to get Clarke good and properly drunk, a mission that was years in the making.  She really didn’t know what to expect, but a part of her was rather anxious to find out.  Perhaps this was what made her hope the Blakes still had a few tricks up their sleeves for the approaching weekend.  Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.  Regardless, it wouldn’t hurt to casually mention the impending date one last time while chatting with Octavia.

“How is that even possible?” Octavia exclaimed, laughing, despite herself.

Clarke shrugged before responding.  “I don’t know!  It just happened, alright?  I mean, yeah, I would’ve never entertained the idea a year ago, but time can make you see a person differently, I guess.  Honestly, I’m kind of glad we got assigned as lab partners.”

“But Finn’s ex-girlfriend?  Seriously?  Need I remind you that _you_ were the other woman in this scenario?”  Clarke could almost hear Octavia’s shit-eating grin on the other line.

She wouldn’t be rattled though.  Sure, at the time, Finn’s indiscretions stung, but she was over it and, thankfully, over him.  Even the residual guilt she might’ve felt—ruining Raven Reyes’ relationship with her boyfriend of four years—had vanished the moment the two began talking.  Any guilt, they knew, rested solely on him.

“A scenario in which we were both victims, O.  Besides, Raven’s pretty cool.  She kind of reminds me of you, actually. I think you two would get on famously.”

“Doubtful,” she said, snark in tow.

Clarke ambled over to her tiny kitchen to grab a snack, phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder as she perused the cabinets.   “You might be surprised.  I mean, you guys have a few really bizarre things in common, like a proclivity to stand up for impassioned causes, and an overall distrust of men in capris.”

This got her attention.  “Go on.”

“I don’t know,” Clarke said with a sigh, “there are just some similarities, okay?  Well, minus the fact that she’s an Engineering major who drives a motorcycle and drinks imported beer.”

Octavia’s side of the line went silent for a moment.

“I could respect that.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “I figured.”  She set a timer on the microwave for her popcorn.  “Anyway, since Raven’s pretty much one of the only friends I’ve made in Boston, she offered to take me out this Friday—you know, on account of not being able to properly celebrate with you bozos.”

“Celebrate what?” Octavia asked in mock earnest.

Because there was no way Clarke’s best friend of five years would forget a day such as this.  “Haha.  Nice try, O, but I’m not falling for it.  You and Bell are pretty much the only two people I can count on not to forget my birthday.”

Another silence.  This one felt different though and Clarke didn’t know why until Octavia started speaking again.

“Huh.”

Well, not exactly ‘speaking’.

“Something wrong?” Clarke asked, erring on the side of skepticism.

Octavia must have been choosing her words carefully because she took an awful long time to respond.  “No.  Not really.  It’s just…I guess you were right.  Time really can make you see a person differently.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”  Clarke didn’t like where this conversation was going, but she refused to hang up until she got to the bottom of it.

“How often do you and Bellamy talk?”

Answering a question with a question was not going to fly with Clarke.  “Alright, I think it’s time you told me what’s really going on.  We’ve been best friends for too long for you to skirt around the truth like this.  Come on, O, what’s really bothering you?”

Octavia’s vexation was felt as she huffed hotly.  “Just _please_ answer the question, Clarke.”

Rolling her eyes, Clarke finally gave in.  “Fine.  Probably once a week.  Usually on Tuesdays because I don’t have an early class the next day.  But I don’t understand why any of this is relevant.”

“Really?” Octavia asked, her voice an octave high than usual.  “Because the last time we talked like this was when I called to tell you about that incident at work….back in August.”

August?  But that was two months ago.

This put everything into stark perspective for Clarke.  When did it get this way?  When did her best friend’s brother become the one person she talked to more than anyone else?  More importantly, when did Octavia start losing her faith in their friendship?

The microwave beeped three times, indicating that her popcorn was ready, but the thought of food seemed inconsequential now.  She leaned against the counter, her eyes unfocused and mind buzzing with all the things she never said.  “I…Octavia, I didn’t realize—”

“I know,” Octavia interrupted, “and, honestly, that’s what hurt the most.  I mean, even when you were dating Finn, you kept me up to date on everything in your life, but afterward, somehow you and Bell just got so wrapped up in each other that you just kinda forgot about me.  Which is also strange considering he’s still adamant about you two being ‘just friends’.  Do you agree?  Is my brother just a friend to you?” 

A question Clarke had asked herself a million times.  She didn’t know what he was to her, except that she’d grown entirely too dependent on it.  “It’s complicated.”

As Octavia realized that was the only answer she was getting from Clarke, she scoffed.  “That’s it?  You say ‘it’s complicated’ and I’m supposed to accept that?”

“I don’t know what else to say, okay?” Clarke yelled, suddenly exhausted and needing a reprieve from Octavia’s unexpected psychoanalysis of her relationships. She pressed a palm to her forehead and took a moment to find her words.  “Bellamy is…the thing is, Bellamy was nothing to me—you knew that—and then out of the blue he became…something.”

“The road trip?” Octavia concluded.

“Yeah,” Clarke answered, remembering that day with perfect clarity.  “I didn’t tell you about the phone calls because, I admit, I was worried what you’d think.  He’s my best friend’s brother of all people, but I just like talking to him so much.  And yeah, I’ve occasionally thought of where that might lead, of future possibilities, but I’m not completely naïve.  I just got swept up in this new thing happening in my life and I didn’t want to let go of it.  But you, O, _you_ are indispensable to me and I can’t imagine losing you over a boy.”

Octavia sighed.  “You’re not losing me, Clarke.  Listen, I’ll be honest, this thing you have with my brother is a little weird—especially since the guy’s 26 going on 50—but if you really like each other, I think it’s time to get out of friendship limbo, don’t you?  I don’t want you limiting yourselves on my account.”

Clarke shook her head, unable to accept that possibility.  “It’s not that simple.  I’m not even sure he sees me that way.  I remember seeing some of those girls he used to take home with him.  That’s not me.  Like I said, it’s something I’ve thought about but the reality is that my friendship with Bellamy is just fine the way it is.  It’s fine.  I’m fine.”  Perhaps saying she was fine out loud enough times would eventually make it true.

“Uh-uh, nope,” Octavia said, using that firm tone that was practically lethal when paired with one of her impassioned causes.  Clarke began to suspect that she would soon become Octavia’s new project.  “Since I completely disagree with that assessment, I’m gonna let fate decide this one.  When you go out with Raven for your birthday on Friday, wear something smoking hot.  Seriously, leave nothing to the imagination and make sure it emphasizes your boobs because we all know that’s your greatest physical asset.”

“I don’t understand, what does this have to do with Bellamy?”

If Octavia happened to be grinning from ear to ear, Clarke was none the wiser.  “I have a plan.  Just trust me on this one.”

 

Raven told Clarke to meet her and her boyfriend, Wick—like Clarke said, they both moved on—at 10pm in the quad in order for the celebratory bar crawl to commence.  Raven knew all the local dives; she was a Boston native and, okay, perhaps she also got her hands on a fake ID at 19.  It was shaping up to be an eventful night, and though Clarke wished her friends back home were here, she was determined not to squander it.

The black number she got from Nordstrom’s a few months ago was a bit on the snug side, but it was understandable considering all of the deliciously greasy food joints Raven had introduced her to.  It fit, nonetheless, and her cleavage was appropriately accentuated just as Octavia mandated. 

Her primping was minimal: hair in loose waves, lashes coated with length-extending mascara and the final touch was a liberal application of her favorite lipstick, Tickled Pink. 

“Damn, birthday girl!” Raven exclaimed when she met them outside.  There was a slight chill in the air, as to be expected mid-autumn on the northeastern coast, prompting Clarke to drape her green pea coat over her shoulders.  Her form-fitting dress could still be seen underneath.  “I don’t know whether to get you drunk or laid tonight.  I feel like the latter might be an easier task.”

“Very funny, however I am much more determined to ‘get my drink on’ as the cool kids say.”  Clarke double-checked her purse instinctively to make sure she didn’t forget her ID—remembering that story Bell told her about missing out on half of his 21st birthday celebration because he left his ID at home and someone had to drive him back to get it. 

_Bellamy_.  As hard as she tried, Clarke couldn’t avoid thoughts of him from entering her brain.

She shook it off and flashed Raven a determined smile.  “So, where to first?  O’Leary’s since it’s the closest?”

“Actually,” Raven started, looking like a mischievous villain in a cartoon, “I have something else in mind.  Come on.  Our ride’s waiting.”

Ride?  So they weren’t hitting up the college bars then. 

As Clarke followed Raven’s lead, a stretch limo came into view.  The distance narrowed and it wasn’t long before she could also make out five smartly dressed people standing beside it.  And not just anybody.

It was Octavia, Monty, Jasper, Miller…and Bellamy.

He spotted her before the others did, a wide grin spreading across his face.  “Happy birthday, Princess.”

Her heart rate elevated.  Something told Clarke this was going to be a night to remember.


	9. So Since I'm Not Your Everything

**October 2007 (continued)**

Over time, Bellamy developed this weird sleeping tick: he couldn’t hit REM unless he was in the comfort of his own bed, and even then it was never a guarantee.  College, as you can imagine, was a major adjustment for him—living in the dorms meant that his exhaustion was ad infinitum the first half of his freshman year.

A doctor’s visit (or three) assured him that this odd quirk of his wasn’t the result of any known medical condition.  His mild case of insomnia was more mental than anything else.  Isn’t that always the case?

At one of their company gatherings, Bellamy met Monroe’s girlfriend, who happened to be a psychologist.  When he was forced to explain why he couldn’t go camping with the crew next weekend, the girl immediately started rapidly firing off questions in order to diagnose his problem.  _What’s your family medical history?  How are your energy levels?  Do you prefer to stay at home rather than going out and doing new things?  When did these sleep habits start?  Have you had some sort of personal trauma that might have triggered it?_

Miller looked at him pointedly when she asked about the preference to stay at home.  Technically, yes, he did turn down Miller and Murphy’s requests to go out…on occasion.  And, yes, those occasions happened to coincide with the nights Clarke wanted to chat.  So what?  That didn’t make him a homebody.  He was still socializing!

The psychologist’s ‘personal trauma’ inquiry gave him pause though.  Sure, he had pretty much created a ‘shit happens’ mantra in order to deal with all the curve balls life threw him—a dead mother, an adopted sister, a stagnant job that barely allowed him to break even each month because he never finished college.  But Bellamy had tough skin, taking all of these obstacles in stride.  This was not what kept him awake at night.  Practically an adult when all of this happened, he was able to see the world for what it truly was.  If someone pushed him down he’d just dust himself off and get back up again.

But Bellamy’s real trauma ran deeper. 

He didn’t remember the night his dad walked out on them, or the signs beforehand that indicated how unhappy his parents supposedly were.  But he did remember the day after, wishing he hadn’t gone to Ricky Hawthorne’s sleepover birthday party and wondering if things would’ve turned out differently if he just stayed home.

The couch in Clarke’s apartment wasn’t particularly uncomfortable (there were no discernable springs poking his side and the memory foam pillow she loaned him was decidedly better than his own), but no matter how hard Bellamy tried he couldn’t go to sleep, plagued once more by the many “what if” scenarios attached to his fateful decision not to stay home.

Oh, how things could’ve turned out differently.

A floorboard creaked and Bellamy turned his head toward the kitchen.  Clarke was walking on the balls of her feet in an attempt to make as little noise as possible, but her stealth had only worked on Jasper and Monty, who were all but dead to the world on the pull out sofa.  As for Miller, well, he took sleep very seriously, snoring softly on the blow up mattress (that he brought from home) in the far corner, ear plugs and an eye mask completing his overnight routine.

Her hair was carelessly held up by a neon pink scrunchy and her oversized sweatshirt hung mid-thigh.  Bellamy couldn’t even determine if she was wearing something underneath until she reached for a cup in the cabinet and a pair of smiley face boxers peaked out from under the sweatshirt.

“I thought you’d be passed out by now.” He thought he had been quiet enough, but the intrusion still managed to startle the cup right out of Clarke's hand.  It was plastic, so it didn’t break, but the sound it made as it hit the hardwood floor echoed throughout the tiny living space.

Fortunately, Jasper and Monty have been known to slip into a bizarre coma-like state whenever their blood alcohol levels reach elevated proportions, so at best the crash in the kitchen caused Jasper to mumble something about chickens and Monty to curl on his side, taking most of the blanket they shared with him. 

Bellamy mouthed his apology as her own mouth gaped in mock horror.  Once she seemed confident the boys were still peacefully slumbering, Clarke fulfilled her quest for water before ambling over to join Bellamy on the couch.

“Shit, Bell!" she yelled in hushed tones.  "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

“A little over-dramatic, don't you think?" he deadpanned.  "I’m sure the odds of me giving someone your age and body mass a heart attack are astronomically slim.”

“Those facts are so misleading,” she said, waving his comment off.  “Just because I’m not over the age of 45 and my LDL levels are relatively low, it doesn’t mean I can’t get atherosclerosis.  Heart attacks can still happen to anyone under the right circumstances.” 

Bellamy shrugged, submitting to Clarke’s superior medical knowledge.  “Whatever, I wasn’t even that loud.  Besides, what was I supposed to do?  Toss and turn on the couch in the guise of waking up?”

She massaged her temple.  “Ugh. Lay off, alright?  My head’s still fuzzy.”

“Which brings me back to my initial comment,” he added knowingly.  “Given that our entire group lost track of how many rum concoctions you had, I thought it was safe to assume you’d be passed out in bed or, at worst, slumped over the toilet seat.”

“Ew,” Clarke said, making a face.  “Thankfully _not_ the latter.  That’s like germ city.  Anyway, I can’t get the much needed sleep I desire because a certain someone is currently thrashing around on my bed so violently it’s like she’s taking on the Crazy 88 in her sleep.  Great parenting, by the way, in letting O get a fake ID.”

More irked at being called a parent than allowing a minor to break the law, Bellamy snatched the cup of water out of Clarke’s hands and took a hearty gulp.  “She’s only got four months until it’s legal.  I figured I might as well let her build up a bit of a tolerance in preparation for whatever the hell she plans on doing in Vegas.”

Clarke took her cup back greedily.  “Well, all I know is Octavia better not have reached ‘blackout’ levels tonight, because she’d be pretty pissed if we had to recount half of the crazy shit that went down.”

Bellamy attempted a smile.  Celebrating Clarke’s 21st birthday in Boston certainly gave them a lot of moments to remember…or, in his case, forget.  If only he had the foresight to start drinking early and in high doses, then maybe he’d be the one blacked out and blissfully unware of all that occurred.

“Hey,” he said, needing a change of topic as well as a change of scenery, “do you wanna get outta here?”

She glanced at the sleeping boys in her living room and then briefly towards her bedroom, as if pondering the implications of leaving four drunk twenty-somethings in her apartment unsupervised.  Then her gaze returned to Bellamy, a mischievous grin emerging.  “What did you have in mind?”

 

 -----

 

After Bellamy expressed a need for something disgustingly greasy (“I’m talking ‘triple bypass or he’s gonna flatline’ greasy”), Clarke recommended they go back to that 24-hour diner they went to on Valentine’s Day.  It was almost 4am, so the bar crowd was filtering out, leaving only what appeared to be a few regulars and a bachelorette party in the back corner on the verge of passing out in their food.

They picked a booth near a window and Bellamy wasted no time scanning the menu, in search of the perfect sustenance to appease his craving.  He barely finished reading the mini descriptions on the appetizers when Clarke snatched the menu from his hands.  “That’s a dangerous move, Griffin.”

“Relax,” she said, setting both menus on the far end of the table, “Menus are for novices.  I’m making an executive decision for you.”

Bellamy eyed the woman skeptically.  “Is that so?  And exactly what makes you certain I’ll approve of this decision?”

Clarke made no reply, instead biding her time until the waiter came to take their order.  “Two coffees, two Coolidge specials and an order of the house donuts.” 

Coffee and donuts was always a safe combination, but the mystery surrounding this 'Coolidge special' would, unfortunately, have to wait seeing as Clarke had that self-assured look in her eye and he was simply too powerless not to indulge her.  He wasn't all that worry, anyway.  She may have questionable taste in music, but being a fellow Virginian, she at least knew a thing or two about quality comfort food.

So, Bellamy used the precious face-to-face time he had with her to, instead, get right down to the important questions.

“Alright, so now that you’ve been an established college student for more than two years, fully immersed in what is known as the ‘laisse faire’ culture of overly-opinionated children playing at adulthood, have you fallen into the infamous coffeehouse trap yet?”

“Just because I’m a college student,” she replied, unimpressed with the subtlety of his sarcasm, “it doesn’t mean I get all of your existential references, Vonnegut.  I need layman’s terms.”

Bellamy acquiesced.  “I’m just saying that most college kids—”

“I’m not a kid,” Clarke snapped, looking bitter, though she seemed to immediately eat her words. 

“Student,” Bellamy corrected, brushing off her outburst as the resulting effect of fatigue and hunger.  “College _students_ tend to, uh, fall into norms and not stray off the beaten path.  For example, do you have a preferred coffeehouse that you like to study at?  Do the baristas at said coffeehouse know your order by heart?  Do you find yourself listening to excessive amounts of Radiohead and The Smashing Pumpkins?  Things of that nature.”

She nodded her head in understanding—even if she did look a bit miffed—and waited to reply until their waiter was done serving their coffee.  “I think I get it now.  You’re asking if I’ve become a cliché.”

Bellamy knew what she was doing and seeing as this had already turned out to be a very long (and rather uneventful) night, he just didn't have the stamina to argue with her.  “You know, I barely get to see you as it is.  Can we not do this tonight?  Can we please just sit and have a conversation like two normal human beings?"

She was staring out the window at the intermittent stream of cars passing by, the look on her face one of stoic concentration.  When she finally turned back to Bellamy, her expression softened as she offered him a weak smile in silent truce.  “I mean, if I have to be normal...fine.  Let's see, no to the coffeehouse trope because I live alone and can easily study there without interruption.  Plus, the break room at the School of Medicine gives me unlimited and free access to their state-of-the-art coffeemaker, complete with a coffee grinder, and that shit is legit.”

Bellamy leaned on his elbow as he listened to Clarke indulge him for the next few minutes.

“I actually consider myself quite the barista seeing as my coffee to cream ratio is perfectly proportioned every time, thank you very much.  And I wouldn’t say I listen to ‘excessive’ amounts of 90s alternative music, but it does kind of get seared into your brain until you start to semi-enjoy it.  More recently, though, I’ve gotten on a 'Chicago' kick.”

“The city?” he asked, features twisting in bemusement.

Clarke laughed.  “No, the band, dumbass.”

“Chicago?” he repeated, needing further affirmation.  “As in that jazz-infused rock band from the 70s that my mom used to listen to?”

“I’ll have you know,” she replied haughtily, “that Chicago was one of the most successful American rock bands, second only to the Beach Boys.  Plus, their jazz infusion is the best part!  Saxophones and trombones are actually quite soothing when I’m in hardcore study mode.” 

Bellamy was doing everything he could to suppress his grin.

“What?”

He raised his hands in defeat.  “Nothing.  It’s just…well, I feel like this is retribution for all those years of old man jokes you and O tortured me with.” 

Clarke made an effort to kick him under the table, but quickly straightened up as their food arrived.

Like Pavlov's dogs, he began to salivate the moment the donuts were placed in front of him, hot out of the fryer and smelling of cinnamon.  The Coolidge special, he quickly discovered, was corned beef hash latkes topped with poached eggs and smothered in hollandaise sauce.  He glanced up at Clarke, a delighted twinkle in his eyes.  “This looks amazing.  I feel like I could eat like Octavia right now."

She smiled, any trace of anger that she previously harbored having vanished.  "Oh, Bell.  No one can eat like Octavia."

They ate in companionable silence for a while, until...

“So,” she started, taking a sip of her coffee to drown out the hesitancy in her voice, “did you have a good time last night?”

He should’ve known that he wouldn’t be able to escape this conversation forever, biting into one of the cinnamon-sugar donuts to mull over how he was going to reply.  “I finally got to celebrate your birthday with you, and in the heart of Boston, of all places.  What more could I ask for?”  It was enough of a truth, all she needed to hear.

Clarke sighed dreamily.  “I do like the nightlife out here.  It’s vibrant and full of character.”

“Although, I think we can both agree that the real ‘characters’, when it comes to karaoke at least, were Jasper and Monty.”

“Oh my god,” Clarke said, laughing outright, “how unbelievably amazing was that?  Hands down, the greatest rendition of ‘Mr. Roboto’ I’ve ever seen!  But you have to wonder how many times they practiced that in Monty’s basement before they were ready to take their act on the road.”

Bellamy shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth before nodding in assent.  “My personal favorite moment of the night was Jasper feeling emboldened enough to rest his head on Raven’s shoulder, to which she smacked him in the back of the head and told him to—”

“Keep dreaming!” Clarke finished excitedly.  “Oh man, that was priceless!  He is _never_ gonna live that down.  I was glad to see you guys bonding with Raven, too. It was like everyone in our little group just...clicked, you know?”

“Well,” Bellamy said with a shrug, “I’m sure the fact that I talked to her a couple days ago helped with that.  You know, this whole night wouldn’t have been possible if it wasn’t for her.”

She gave him a pointed stare.  “You mean, if it wasn’t for your ability to stalk people on Facebook and convince them to call you to plan a surprise party for a mutual friend?”

Sometimes Clarke’s tongue-in-cheek remarks were so on point that it reminded him just how much he missed these stolen moments with her.  “Wow.  It’s like you took the words right out of my mouth.”

She quickly tilted her head and gave him a playful smirk.  “All joking aside though, I haven’t had a chance to properly thank you for tonight.  O told me the effort you put into making sure no one spoiled the surprise and, well, it was really great.  It was actually the first birthday in a long time that I didn’t dwell on thoughts of my dad and how much I miss him.  So, since you guys are officially my family now, I can safely go on record and say that this was one of best birthdays ever.”

It meant a lot to hear her say those words.  He knew how difficult holidays and birthdays were for Clarke and often wondered how different they would be if her father was still around.  It was something he could relate to.  The thing is, he would do just about anything to make Clarke Griffin happy.  “I’m glad you had fun.  It was a good night.”  He amended his statement.  “Well, apart from that creep staring at O from across the bar, it was a good night.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “You know, you don’t have to play the role of protective brother 24/7.  Octavia’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”  She saw Bellamy reaching for the last donut and quickly snatched it out from under him, a satisfied smirk plastered on her lips.  “Besides, you guys are heading back to Virginia this afternoon.  It’s not like the guy’s gonna follow her down there.”

True.  People don’t just impulsively move 500 miles away to be near their crush.  He gazed at Clarke longingly.  _Yeah, that would be stupid, wouldn't it?_

They were on their third coffee refill when Clarke finally asked for the check.  “We should probably head back.  The sun’s gonna be up soon and I’d like to get a few hours of shuteye before you have to leave.  What time’s your flight again?”

“A little before 2pm I think,” he vaguely recalled.  “The airport’s close, but we should probably leave your apartment by noon to be on the safe side.  Man, I’m so glad Monty’s parents let us use their frequent flyer miles.  I don’t think I could’ve handled that 8 hour drive this weekend.”

Clarke nodded absently.

Bellamy refused to listen to her reasons for wanting to pay the bill (“You paid last time!  It’s only fair that I reciprocate!”) because it was her birthday weekend and there was no way in hell he was letting her pay for his meal, let alone hers.

He was glad for this alone time with her, however short it was.  They were in a good place and though saying goodbye would, as usual, be bittersweet, he had a new memory of her to hold onto until their next encounter.

“So,” Clarke drawled out anxiously, to which Bellamy felt a strange sense of déjà vu coming on, “are you really gonna make me be the one that brings up the elephant in the room?”

Apparently it was too good to be true.  “What elephant?” he asked, feigning naivety.

They were on the sidewalk, headed toward her apartment building, when Clarke came to a dead stop.  “No boundaries, remember?  I know you saw what happened last night and considering how important you are to me, I’d really like to hear your thoughts.”

Bellamy rubbed a hand over his face, fatigue finally kicking in.  “I don’t understand what my opinion has to do with it.”

Clarke looked slightly taken aback by his response.  “Really?  No thoughts at all?  You’re just a completely impartial third party on the matter?”

“What do you want me to say, Clarke?” Bellamy erupted, confused by the blurred lines that encompassed their friendship.  “Was it unexpected?  Sure.  And I think I speak for everyone in our party on that account.  But how I felt beyond that is irrelevant.  How’s that song go?  It’s my party and I can kiss a random girl if I want to.”

Clarke looked suddenly small as she stared at the cracks in the sidewalk.  “She’s not random.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh.  So, you’ve kissed her before?”

“No,” she responded, folding her arms across her chest, “I’ve just talked to her before.  Lexa’s a courier and sometimes drops stuff off at the reception desk I work at.”

Lexa.  So the mysterious girl from the club had a name, and what’s more, she’s interacted with Clarke before.

“Do you like her?” he found himself asking, though secretly dreading her answer.

Clarke dragged her gaze back up to him, something unreadable lingering behind her eyes.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.”

As painful as it was, Bellamy was reminded of his earlier sentiment, when she looked all wistful and talked about her birthday like it was one for the history books. _He would do just about anything to make Clarke Griffin happy._   Even, he supposed, if that happiness was with someone else.

“Well, you better find out quickly, because a girl like that probably won’t wait around for too long.”

Not as long as he would.  Nobody possessed the stamina of a pathetic, pining sap quite like Bellamy Blake did.  He was their king.

Her mouth went slack.  “So, you’re sure?  You really think jumping into this thing with Lexa is the right thing for me to do?”

 _No, I don’t_.  “I can’t help you make that decision, Clarke.  Feelings aren’t bound by the same laws of right and wrong.  Only you can determine what your heart tells you.”

A moment of apprehension and confliction danced across her face, but just as quickly as it came was it gone.  “You know,” she started, keeping her voice steady and impassive, “you’re pretty wise for a college dropout.”

He let her steer the conversation back to light-hearted jests and flashed her a cheeky side smirk.  “And you’re pretty radical for a blue-blooded Virginian.”

She shrugged comically.  “That’s why we make such a great team.  Our mutual hopes for a progressive future are what keep us grounded.  That way we don’t go psycho on everyone’s ass.”

Bellamy laughed as he wrapped an arm around Clarke’s shoulder and set a pace for the apartment once more.  “No truer words have been spoken.”


	10. I'm Not at Home in My Own Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was a long one. I'm gonna try REALLY hard to get the next one out this weekend (it's a special side chapter from Octavia's perspective that I've been itching to include) so fingers crossed!

**December 2007**

Lexa Trikru was an enigma.  She was a tidal wave, a sudden and powerful surge of passion with a voice that demanded to be heard.  But she was also like the shore, a stoic, constant presence that fiercely stood her ground when faced with adversity.

The night of her birthday bash often played over in Clarke’s head, how she should’ve been upset that a casual acquaintance was presumptuous enough to kiss her in the middle of a crowded bar, but the woman’s lips were so soft and sure that she soon gave into the jolt of electricity that flowed through her veins at the unexpected touch.

Her conversation with Bellamy early the next morning provided some much needed clarity, and even though any hope of something more between them had been all but diminished, she at least found comfort in the knowledge that he would continue to be in her life no matter what.

The next day, she nervously called Lexa to make plans for the following weekend.

It took Clarke three dates to unravel the complexities of Lexa’s character.  She was an open book, tattoos and scars painting vivid pictures of her life in pieces.  She should’ve been broken and bitter with a childhood like that, but Lexa was resilient, proudly wearing those previous hardships that molded her into the person she was today.  Three dates.  That was all it took for Clarke to become putty in Lexa’s hands.

Spending time with the astonishingly beautiful brunette was like unearthing a part of herself she never knew existed yet subconsciously yearned for.  They’d sneak into posh art galleries and drink their weight in champagne, having to be removed from the premises quite frequently.  They’d attend on-campus slam poetry readings with Lexa’s friends, who were often high as a kite whenever she'd see them.  Clarke was never interested in smoking that skunky stuff, but she couldn’t deny how free Lexa looked, eyes slightly bloodshot as she’d wax poetic on stage against other co-eds in a grudge match of verbal wits.

When Lexa got a new tattoo (her ninth, of which Clarke took her time in memorizing the locations of), Clarke found herself in the chair beside her.  The pain was surprisingly therapeutic, a dull ache that became a release for something she hadn’t realized she was holding in.  There was also, admittedly, a bit of a rush in anticipating her mother’s reaction once she’d reveal the tattoo at Christmas.  She already picked out a strapless dress just for the occasion, giving no cause to hide the x-ray of an iris on her right shoulder.  Irises were always her favorite flower and the skeletal concept was, of course, an hommage to her late father.  When they went back to her apartment that night, a tender shoulder didn’t stop Clarke from finding another form of release with Lexa.

As finals approached, Lexa mentioned that she’d be staying in Boston for the holidays.  “My Aunt Anya’s on a quest of enlightenment, or some bullshit, and didn’t say when she’d return.  She took the mobile home with her so Boston’s kinda like my permanent home for the foreseeable future.  Can’t complain, really.  It beats a trailer park in Kentucky any day.”

There was no hesitancy in Clarke’s voice when she invited Lexa home to Virginia for their two week reprieve.  She did warn Lexa, however, about her staunchly Republican mother and the overly Christian traditions she would probably be subjected to.  It didn’t faze the woman.  She was anxious to get a glimpse of her girlfriend’s life before Boston and was especially looking forward to ‘officially’ meeting the famous Blake siblings Clarke boasted of daily. 

Watching pretentious southerners pander their old money was just an added bonus.

They flew into Fredericksburg after Clarke’s last final on Friday.  Clarke had mentioned to her mother that she was bringing a guest but included no other details to ensure, at least, that a background check wouldn’t be done until after their arrival.  Lexa was also warned about this inevitability, but merely expressed intrigue over what Clarke’s mother would find. 

It was entertaining to watch the face of a poised doctor fall at the sight of Lexa—hippie hair, thick eyeliner, tattoos and all.  It was even more entertaining to hear her mother drop the book she was holding after walking into the living room to find Clarke and Lexa cuddling while watching _Bad Santa_.

Clarke took pity on her though as they were getting ready for Jaha’s annual gala.  It was apparent that her mother was trying to find a polite reason to disinvite Clarke’s new companion—going to such lengths as telling Clarke that her own attendance was not required this year—but Lexa had already expressed an interest in further witnessing how the other half lived and Clarke didn’t want to disappoint.  Instead, she promised her mother that they would go to the gala as ‘friends’, even throwing on a sequined sweater over her strapless dress as a final peace offering.

With each event Clarke attended at the mayor’s house, she became increasingly aware of how redundant they were.  The guests were the same, the conversations about money well spent were the same, and their attire was as gaudy and ostentatious as ever.  The women were cloaked in velvet and imported silks, with diamonds accentuating their ensembles.  The men wore finely tailored suits, sporting custom-made cufflinks that probably cost more than a month’s rent on her apartment.  This was one aspect of the inherently wealthy that Clarke never understood.  Why buy a designer dress when you can get a similar cut 70% off at JCPenney?  Octavia had taught her that.

There were more important things to spend your money on, as Lexa rationalized.  “If I had a fraction of the wealth these yuppies had, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a small Virginian town like this—no offense.”  Clarke could hardly take offense to such a truth.  “It makes no sense.  They’re all so eager to pull out their checkbooks for these charities and fundraisers, but does that honestly give them a sense of accomplishment?  Why not actively do something instead of hosting a dinner party?  Do you know how many people are still struggling to survive in Pakistan after that earthquake two years ago?  Of course, everyone was too busy rebuilding New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina to remember that other countries, like Pakistan, need aid just as much, if not more so.”

Clarke smiled fondly as she caught a glimpse of that passion that often overwhelmed Lexa.  It was like an itch that she couldn’t quite scratch.  She was one person who wanted to change the world, and as beautiful as that world seemed it was also a far-reaching dream.

“If I ever came into a large inheritance,” she continued, “I’d board the first flight out of this country and just do something impulsive—like backpacking through Europe, or climbing Mount Otemanu in Bora Bora.  None of those touristy spots either.  I’m talking rough terrains and back roads—those hidden gems that are stripped bare of commercialism and can remind us what it truly means to be human.”

Lexa painted a stunning picture for Clarke and she allowed her thoughts to drift away from this place, if only for a moment.  “I’ve always wanted to go to Greece, to see the turquoise waters, steep canyons and mountainous islands.  It looks absolutely beautiful there.  Of course, Bellamy would make sure I stopped by the Acropolis of Athens and the Temple of Aphaia because it would be sacrilege not to.”

“Fascinating,” Lexa deadpanned.  “I didn’t realize Bellamy was your little lap dog.  Do you take him with you on all of your excursions?”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “Oh, come on.  I meant that he would want me to take pictures for him or something.  He’s like a huge history buff, especially when it comes to ancient Greek mythology.”  She stopped to analyze Lexa’s demeanor.  “Don’t tell me you’re actually jealous of Bellamy.”

They were wandering through the west wing of the three-story house as Lexa turned to inspect a landscape painting that looked to be a Monet.  “I don’t get jealous,” came her perfunctory reply.  Clarke assumed that would be the end of it and, having no interest to stoke the fire further, began her descent back into the main hall to seek out more bubbly libations.  The endless trays of champagne were just about the only thing these parties were good for.  “But you do talk about him a lot.”

This gave Clarke pause.  “That’s because he’s one of my best friends.  I maybe get to see Bell and Octavia once every few months, so I guess talking about them helps me cope with how much I miss them.”

“All I’m saying is that you don’t talk about her nearly as often as him,” Lexa stated, staring at Clarke so directly now, as if challenging her to look away and admit her guilt.

Clarke wouldn’t take the bait though.  Yes, Clarke cared about Bellamy on a deeper level than would probably ever get explored, but that was just the point.  Nothing had happened between them, and, as far as she knew, nothing ever would.  She had moved on.

“Well,” Clarke started, taking calculating steps toward Lexa, “if you want me to talk your ear off about Octavia, I’d be happy to oblige as I have five and half years’ worth of stories on her.  But as far as Bellamy goes, I can say with absolute certainty that we are just friends.  Bellamy and I may have shared a lot with each other, but there’s one thing we haven’t done.”

Lexa raised her eyebrows, on the verge of being curious.  “Oh yeah?  What’s that?”

After locating her destination, Clarke grabbed Lexa’s hand and led her toward a closed door on the left.  “We haven’t made out in someone else’s guest bathroom.”

It didn’t take Lexa long to warm up to the idea, commenting on how disgustingly tasteful the bathroom décor was before closing (and locking) the door behind them.

It wasn’t until they emerged from the bathroom—after fixing their lipstick smudges and straightening their sweaters—and returned to the hub of the gala that Clarke realized why something felt…off.  Nothing to do with Lexa, of course.  In fact, their little bathroom rendezvous had very much improved her evening, still dizzy with thoughts of Lexa’s overindulgent tongue and what it promised to do to her later that night.

No, the problem rested on the sudden realization that there wasn’t a problem at all.  At every one of the mayor’s events she was forced to attend since her father’s death, there seemed to be no escaping Wells’ presence.  It had been seven years since she cut her friend out of her life, but her blatant disregard never stopped him from taking every opportunity he had to talk to her and try (unsuccessfully) to repair what they had.  Clarke and Lexa had been roaming the halls of the gala for nearly two hours now, and it suddenly dawned on her that he had not tried to flag her down once.

Lexa immediately picked up on the look of distress on Clarke’s face.  “What’s wrong?”

The answer to that question was rather difficult, especially since she never got around to sharing with Lexa the intimate details of her past.  They had been dating for almost two months now—discovering each other’s bad habits and embarrassing desires—but when asked about her father’s whereabouts, “he died” were the only words Clarke could muster.

“Nothing,” she finally replied, attempting to shake off this uneasy feeling that crawled into her chest.  “I just forgot to wish someone a merry Christmas.  Come on.”  Clarke pulled Lexa along as they descended into the main hall, wondering why withholding the truth had to morph into an outright lie.  “Merry Christmas!” was most certainly not on the list of things she wished to say to Wells, and she still didn’t know why it was so important to locate him all of a sudden, but her wild imagination wouldn’t let her think straight until she did.

The first person she thought to ask was her mom, to no avail.  Now that made for two missing persons, an omen in itself.  Clarke begrudgingly approached an alternative source—a man she hadn’t spoken to in several years but may very well be her only lead.

“Where’s your son?” she asked, tone clipped and all notions of tact thrown out the window as she interrupted his conversation with Marcus Kane.

Thelonious Jaha regarded her carefully.  “It’s a pleasure to see you too, Clarke.  I hear you’re faring pretty well for yourself in Boston.”

At a young age, Clarke was taught to respect her elders and practice the etiquette of holding a polite conversation at formal engagements.  This conversation did not call for such actions and her true feelings were immediately perceived by the mayor.  “Drop the niceties, Thelonious.  I know who you really are, so your southern charm won’t work on me.  I’m only stooping so low as to talk to you right now because I haven’t seen Wells all evening and I want to know why.”

“I’m surprised you’ve managed to note his absence as it is my understanding that you’ve been unable to speak civilly towards him for quite some time.”

“Oh,” Clarke replied, feigning surprise, “so I’m the villain now?  This should be good.  I would love to hear exactly how you came to that conclusion.”

Thelonious sighed before excusing himself from Kane’s company and guiding Clarke over to a more secluded corner.  His expression turned serious.  “Let’s get one matter perfectly clear, Clarke Griffin.  There will never come a day when I will feel the need to explain my actions or beliefs to that of a headstrong girl.  All you need to know is that everything I do is for the survival of this town.  Your mother understands that and it’s time you do, as well.”

The reference to her mother in this conversation seemed a bit off-course, but Clarke decided to store this piece of information in the back of her mind to be examined at a later time.

“As for my son,” Jaha continued, “it is unfortunate, but it appears he does not possess the stomach for politics as I had previously hoped.  Apparently, the fruitlessness of his attempts to win your friendship back have taken a toll on him and he has expressed a wish to forego any future event that anticipates your attendance.”

The mayor’s words should not have hurt Clarke as much as they did.  So, Wells didn’t want to see her anymore.  Good riddance, right?  She had made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, so she shouldn’t care how he feels about her, right?

Wrong.

The very fact that her muscles still tensed whenever she thought of Wells’ betrayal only proved that a part of her did care and was at least willing to hear his side…if he ever gathered the courage to tell her.  Now it looked as if she would never get that chance—or, at the very least, the closure she desperately needed.

That is, unless she did something about it.

Without so much as a wave goodbye, Clarke turned on her heels and walked with deliberation toward the east wing staircase.  She remembered spotting Wells’ Porsche in the driveway before they entered the house, and unless he snuck out without her noticing, it was safe to assume he was holed up in his room at present.  Years apart could not erase the location of his room from her memory—second floor, fourth door on the left. 

“So, that was the mayor, right?” Lexa asked, making her presence known.

Clarke nodded, too consumed by her endgame to give a verbal response.

“I’m not complaining, of course,” she continued, inquiring but not prying since Lexa was rather good at picking up on non-verbal cues, “but do you often make a habit of belittling government officials in their own homes?”

They reached the top of the staircase and Clarke’s shoulders shrugged before rounding the corner.  “Only if the situation warrants it.”

“Full disclosure—that’s kinda hot.”

Except Clarke wasn’t in a flirtatious mood, especially after hearing voices upon approaching the partially open door of Well’s bedroom.  Two voices, to be exact.

Putting a finger to her lips to stifle any off the cuff remarks Lexa considered making, Clarke crept along the wall to inch as close to the door as possible without being seen.

“I’ve tried, okay?” Wells could be heard saying—on the verge of shouting, really.  “I’ve done everything short of telling Clarke the truth, but it’s been seven years and she still can’t even look at me without immediately glaring.”

“That doesn’t mean you give up, Wells.”  Clarke’s mother?  What was she doing here?  “You two have been friends for so long.  Don’t throw in the towel because it’s suddenly too much work.”

“You make it sound like I’m taking the easy way out,” Wells countered.  “The truth is, nothing about this god awful situation is easy.  I’m just thinking about what’s best for Clarke.  She doesn’t need me in her life anymore—not when I can’t even be the same person she knew when we were kids.”

“If you still care for her the way you did before, then nothing’s changed.  Not really, anyway.  I know deep down that you’re still important to her.  Just tell her how you feel.  She deserves that much.”

The conversation shifted as Wells let out a low, biting remark.  “What she deserves is the truth.”

The good doctor didn’t respond right away, as if she was carefully calculating her next move.  The possibility of what that truth was started brewing in Clarke’s mind.  A part of her was terrified she already knew the answer—potentially _had_ known for some time now—but happiness is a warm gun and seven years of denial helped her pull the trigger.

“Do not suddenly act as if this was forced on you, Wells,” Clarke’s mom finally said, her voice an ominous whisper.  “ _You_ chose this outcome and don’t you ever forget that.  I was fully prepared to come clean that night but you were the one that said Clarke shouldn’t have to lose both parents.  _You_ made that sacrifice.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t realize…”

Whatever Wells said next had drowned in the deafening haze of Clarke’s senses.  Her limbs felt lifelessly heavy, like a marble statue, weathered and worn.  One final blow and she’d be crumbling to the ground. 

Her mother was the sledgehammer.

How could…?  Why didn’t she…?  An infinite number of questions swirled around in the hurricane of her mind.

Everything had changed.  Everything felt wrong.  Denial, Clarke’s constant companion, refused to leave her side because how was this even possible?  How could she come to terms with this revelation when she had forced herself to believe a different truth for so long?

The only way to wake up from this lucid dream was to confront her mom head on.

Throwing caution to the wind, Clarke splayed her hand against the door and pushed it open.  Wells noticed her first, eyes dilated and jaw slack at the sight of her. 

“It was you?”  She asked, labored by the harsh reality of her own words.  “All along, it was you?”

Though her back was turned, Abigail Griffin could recognize her own daughter’s voice anywhere.  Her whole body went rigid and it took a couple of seconds for her to find the strength to face her judgment.

“Clarke, it’s not what you—”

“Don’t!” Clarke shouted through gritted teeth.  “I don’t want to hear excuses or what you think is best for me.” She cast a painful glance at Wells before training her eyes on her mother once more.  “I want the absolute truth.  Who turned my father in to Thelonious?”

Wells remained seated on the edge of his bed.  The loaded question caused him to tilt his head down and stare at his hands in his lap.  This was no longer his fight.  After years of passively being the transgressor, Wells was finally ready to shed himself of this pretense and now left the good doctor at the mercy of her maker.

Abigail flexed her fingers at her side before taking a hesitant step toward her daughter.  “Regardless of what you might think, you are my whole world, Clarke, and I lo—”

Clarke slammed her fist against the door, causing it to fly back on its hinges and hit the wall.  “Just tell me the fucking truth!”

Unable to count on her hands the number of times she had raised her voice to her own mother, Clarke at least knew that the fury with which she spoke to her now was unrivaled.

Dr. Griffin could tell that her daughter wasn’t going to let this go—not until she got the answers she came for.  “Your father’s plan was reckless, Clarke,” she started, staring at a fixed point on the wall, her voice quivering with pent up emotion.  “It had the potential to endanger many lives, including his own.  At the time, stopping Jake from broadcasting his message was the only thing I could think to do to protect him—to protect us.”

Clarke’s eyebrows knitted together as she tried, and failed, to understand her mother’s logic.  “Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”  Denial had fled.  The facts were presented and the verdict was in. 

A hollow shell of her former self, Clarke was unable to feel anything for the woman—this stranger—standing in front of her.

“I’m going now,” Clarke said, as soon as she realized Abigail had nothing else to say for herself.  “And don’t try to follow me.  This conversation is done for the night.  Feel free to return to the party so you can mingle with your donors. I know how your priorities work anyway.”

The woman looked positively frantic now.  “Clarke, please!”  But this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.  Her daughter was lost to her now.

Clarke swiftly turned to exit the room she spent most of her childhood in without once looking back at Wells or her mother.  She grabbed Lexa’s hand—alerting her of another matter that required further explanation—and the pair hightailed it out of the mayor’s mansion.

They walked back to the Griffin home, though the distance was further than a walk normally permitted.  Walking was good though.  The cold December air felt nice on her reddened face.  The night was still, allowing Clarke to focus on the sound of their heels hitting the pavement as they kept a brisk pace.  The adrenaline and anger that coursed through her veins had even begun to dissipate—albeit minimally—with the exertion of their walk.

She would survive this.  She had to.

It was easy to anticipate the questions Lexa eventually asked her, but it was harder to answer them.   Perhaps she should have told her girlfriend about her complicated past earlier in their relationship, at least before bringing her home to mom, but now wasn’t the time for ‘what ifs’.  Clarke answered what she could—those details that didn’t spark a fresh wave of fury and anguish within her —and let Octavia and Bellamy fill in the gaps after they grabbed their belongings and headed to the Blake’s apartment.

This wasn’t the way she planned on introducing them to Lexa—showing up on their doorstep with a suitcase in hand and using all her strength not to have a complete meltdown in front of them.  But being surrounded by family memories in the Griffin household was a non-option and the Blakes were the only other family she had.

Octavia reacted to the news exactly as expected, unleashing expletives as she paced the living room and barely restraining herself from storming out of there to give the good doctor a piece of her mind.

Bellamy took a different, more relaxed approach.  His first instinct was to tell Clarke (and Lexa) they were welcome to stay as long as they needed, which would likely be until their return flight to Boston next week.  He then made some chamomile tea and set out some spare pillows and blankets while they went to change into more comfortable clothes.

Octavia and Lexa cuddle close to Clarke on the couch, who curled in on the mug of tea between her hands and breathed in the inviting scents of lavender and honey.  Bellamy settled into his usual recliner, remote in hand as he searched for a holiday movie they could watch. 

Upon seeing his selection, Octavia groaned.  “Lifetime, Bell?  Seriously?  They make the worst Christmas movies.  They’re so cheesy and unrealistic.”

“By definition, that would make it the best kind of Christmas movie,” Clarke inserted, speaking for the first time since initially unraveling the details of her nightmarish evening.  The other three looked at her expectantly, and in response she shyly bent her head down and sipped on her tea.

Bellamy eased the tension and put the focus on himself.  “Clarke’s right.  Most holiday movies have an air of idealistic magic or hope anyway.  I personally like to spend the season so far removed from reality that these sappy, fairytale endings actually seem kind of sweet.  Plus, I get a kick out of the terrible acting and script writing.”

Lexa shrugged.  “I’m game if that’s what Clarke wants.”

Already knowing her answer, Bellamy turned up the volume just as the intro music for the film faded out.  Halfway through the movie, he glanced back at Clarke and, for the first time in hours, she smiled.  It wasn’t the smile she normally saved for him.  If anything, it was an attempt to smile, the corners of her mouth barely tilting up as the effort to do so was far too draining.  The smile that Bellamy returned spoke more on the issue at hand than anything else he had said that night.

They had been friends long enough now that Clarke knew exactly what he was doing.  Bellamy wasn’t merely exhibiting gentleman-like behavior—making tea, offering his hospitality, checking for movies on the one channel he knew she would not disapprove of—because Aurora engrained these ideals in him as a child.  No.  Bellamy was easing the pain.

This evening’s revelation was difficult for Clarke to comprehend, let alone process, and she could tell right away that Bellamy understood that.  He wanted to make sure her anger didn’t take hold of her, that she wouldn’t do anything rash in her current state, and distracting her racing thoughts with tea and cheesy movies until they subsided was precisely what she needed.

Bellamy Blake was, well, he was everything to Clarke and she couldn’t imagine her life without him.  She hoped never to have to.

* * *

 

 

Clarke and Lexa stayed as intended, spending Christmas Day with the Blakes.  They watched the parade while frosting cookies and took turns in helping prepare their Christmas feast—which could only be enjoyed once Clarke turned off her phone to avoid the barrage of calls and texts from her mother.  Monty and Jasper later stopped by for a visit (mostly to mooch on the yams) and, to Monty’s embarrassing delight, so did Miller.

Clarke chose not to burden the newcomers with her family matters.  Pretending to live a life of normalcy was nice and she wished she could remain disillusioned like this forever.  But deep down, her memories wouldn’t let her forget.  Christmas always came with thoughts of her father.  They did everything together and she was happier than ever when he was alive.

As Clarke took this trip down memory lane she remembered that her mom used to be happy too.  Abigail Griffin was not always the cold and distant doctor everyone now knew.  Once upon a time, she was just a girl who fell in love with a boy and they had a child together and life was perfect for a while…but all of that changed the day he was killed.  Perhaps it was guilt or her inability to cope with loss, but no matter the cause, Clarke was able to trace back, at least, the roots of her rocky relationship with her mom to that tragic day.

She remembered dealing with the shock of her dad’s death at her aunt’s house in Florida.  Her mom had sent her away that summer saying that it was best for Clarke to “steer clear of the media storm that would surely follow”.  She remembered not being able to properly grieve because having her aunt pat her shoulder and say “everything’s going to be all right” felt like the biggest lie she had ever been told.  Months later, she remembered seeing her mother laugh and share stories at social gatherings, but then they’d come home and it was like a different person took her place—habitually telling Clarke to brush her teeth before heading up to her room for the night.

What Clarke failed to understand was why her mother kept this secret for so long if the weight of it had made her so obviously miserable. 

She should’ve been upfront with Clarke from the beginning.  It wouldn’t have made it hurt any less, but, perhaps, forgiving her mother for betraying her father would’ve been somewhat easier had she not allowed Wells—who was just an impressionable teenager at the time—to lie for her.

 _That_ she could not forgive.  This insurmountable lie had created seven years of tension between her and her best friend, and she would never get those years back.

So, this was where Clarke now stood.  Dr. Griffin—for the woman could hardly be thought of as her mother anymore—had made her treacherous bed, and now she was forced to lie in it.

Alone.

That night, as the gang played a rambunctious game of holiday charades (except for Lexa who sat quietly after claiming that pantomiming wasn’t her thing), Clarke pulled Bellamy aside and told him that after some careful thought she had decided to cut ties with her mother and that house.  For the time being, at least.  Bellamy didn’t argue or try to be the voice of reason.  Instead, he offered to share the storage unit he kept for his mother’s personal affects so she could store away any belongings she didn’t need in Boston.

The next day, Clarke called Mary Washington Hospital to make sure her mother was on duty before the four of them made the short trip to Clarke’s house to pack as quickly as possible.  They were halfway finished loading Bellamy’s truck when a car pulled up in the driveway.

To everyone’s relief, it wasn’t her mother.

Clarke went alone to greet their surprise guest.  He looked nervous, shoulders tense and hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

There was so much to say to him, but Clarke struggled to find the words.  How do you repair a broken friendship?  With metaphorical glue and tape?  Or if it’s broken beyond repair, can you exchange it for something new?

“How was your Christmas?”  Wells knew it was a stupid question to ask, but she supposed it was all he could think to fill that void.

“It was okay,” Clarke replied.  “It could’ve been better.”

Wells sheepishly looked at the ground.  “Right.”

Clarke had had enough small talk.  They had been in each other’s lives too long to ever require that, and she was desperate to ask a question that only Wells had the answer to.  “You let me hate you.  Why?”

He shrugged and then, “I don’t know, Clarke.  I guess I thought…I thought it would be easier for you to hate me than the only parent you had left.”

“There’s nothing easy about losing your best friend,” she said, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Wells nodded.  “I know that now.”  They remained standing in the driveway for a bit longer, silent but secretly itching to say more.  Wells went first.  “So, what’s going on?  Are you moving out?”

“Yeah.  I mean, I know I spend most of my time in Boston anyway, but I need a break from this place…from her.  My friends are helping me move some stuff into a storage unit.”  She hesitated before asking, “Do you want to help?”

It was then that Wells smiled, a smile she had been acquainted with all her life, and it gave her hope.

“Yeah.  I’d love to.”

Christmas 2007 wasn’t her favorite holiday—probably one of the worst, by her calculations—but 2008 at least gave her hope.  Clarke found strength in this revelation and was determined not to be brought down by her mother’s actions so she could look forward to the future—a future with Wells.

 


	11. I Woke Up Like This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is a side chapter, in Octavia's perspective. I wanted to lay the groundwork for Octavia and Lincoln since their relationship will be seen throughout this story in the background. Also, I'm a sucker for ridiculous meet-cutes. Enjoy! ; )

**January 2008**

For Octavia Blake, waitressing was as low on the totem pole as she could get.  She didn’t have the greatest tolerance for people—only a select few deserved her respect and courtesy—which meant that the majority of her tips were…abysmal.  At any other food establishment, she certainly wouldn’t have lasted this long (what was it—seven months now?), but the manager at the Waffle House in Fredericksburg, Gus, had a soft spot for Octavia ever since she performed the Heimlich on his wife while accidentally choking on a strip of bacon.

This daring rescue was courtesy of her best friend, of course.  Future M.D., Clarke Griffin, had insisted that all customer service personnel should be CPR, Heimlich Maneuver, and AED certified, so she took it upon herself to train Octavia and her brother in case of emergency.  The medical dummy Clarke borrowed for them to practice on was nothing compared to the real thing so Octavia was glad for the opportunity to practice on each other as well.  At the time, however, she wasn’t as glad to witness Bellamy’s euphoric reaction as Clarke wrapped her arms around him to mimic the life-saving maneuver.

Octavia’s feelings about Clarke and Bellamy’s connection (she really didn’t know what to call it) had much changed since then—going from awkward to resentful to isolated to understanding in the span of a few months.  Of course, none of that mattered now.  Her acceptance of her best friend and brother’s blatant chemistry meant nothing if Bellamy was going to continue pining for Clarke in secret.

Shortly after Clarke began dating Lexa (a.k.a Rebel without a Cause), Octavia made the mistake of confronting Bellamy about his feelings.  At some point, a lamp had shattered on the floor and after that it was mutually decided to consider that topic moot.

Being in each other’s lives for so long, Octavia knew how commonplace it was for Bellamy to claim the title of self-deprecating martyr.  The people he loved had always come before him.  No matter how much of himself he had to sacrifice, he would do what was necessary to make them happy. 

If only he could get it through his thick skull that telling Clarke how he really felt about her would, in turn, make her happy—current relationships not withstanding!

Since her efforts to bring them together were fruitless at this juncture, Octavia decided to focus those efforts, instead, on her own future.  Taking people’s orders at the local Waffle House was not exactly in that future, but it was money, a vital piece of the puzzle that would help her eventually jump start her life.

Community college wasn’t as bad as she originally thought.  She managed to suck it up and get her Associate’s degree last spring, but wasn’t ready to transfer to a 4-year school to complete her Bachelor’s until she could settle on a major she wished to pursue.

Business?  No, too boring.  Octavia could never picture herself working 9-5 in a slate gray cubicle.  Education?  Maybe.  She didn’t like people much, but kids were cool.  If only it came with a guarantee that she did _not_ have to worry about helicopter moms.  Hell, she even thought about joining the armed forces at one point just to stimulate her senses and maybe get some world experience under her belt.

Yeah, that’d be great—well, if she didn’t have such a problem with authority.

Growing up was a lot harder than she imagined as a kid, so much so that even the prospect of turning 21 in March began to feel lackluster.  So, she could legally drink soon.  Big deal.  What had traditionally been heralded as a rite of passage now looked like an excuse for perplexed twenty-somethings to publically drown out their sorrows.

There were moments Octavia actually fantasized about breaking out of this cage of conformity.  In her mind’s eye, she could see herself tearing off her apron, walking out of the diner, getting in her car and just driving.  She’d drive for hours, until the car ran out of gas, and whatever town she stopped in could be her new home.  A fresh start.

The idea was reckless—and she probably wouldn’t get very far without Bellamy chasing after her—but the dream was somewhat liberating.

She stopped having that dream the moment she saw _him_ again.

There was no mistaking who he was.  That brooding face, that beautiful caramel skin, those broad shoulders that seemed to take up the width of the doorway as he walked into her diner.  He took a seat in a corner booth and as she made her way over to him so many possibilities popped in her head regarding how this conversation would turn out.  She had questions, to be sure, primarily with regard to how he managed to wind up in _her_ restaurant of all places, 500 miles south of their initial encounter.

She waited for him to make the first move and instead all she got was, “A cup of coffee, please.  Black.”

And that was it.  He made no indication that he had met her before—if you can even call it that considering _she_ did most of the talking after catching him staring at her at that bar in Boston.  Was she that forgettable?  He seemed so interested at the time, as shy as he was, that Octavia found it hard to believe that his showing up at the Waffle House in Fredericksburg, VA was a mere coincidence.

But if he was going to forget, then so was she, taking his order and treating him like every other patron in the joint.

The aggravatingly attractive twenty-something became a creature of habit after that.  He stopped by the Waffle House every Monday through Friday at approximately 8:15am to drink his morning coffee, offering nothing more than a few common courtesies and an occasional smile.

The more Octavia thought about it, however, the less she bought his little act.  For starters, their coffee was shit.  Everyone knew that.  Octavia could name at least six other establishments that served even slightly higher quality coffee within a mile radius.  There was also the fact that he never got his coffee to go, spending a solid 30 minutes taking slow sips and perusing the newspaper like a lonesome, timeworn war vet getting in touch with the world.  As for his tips, well, as much as she appreciated the extra cash, Octavia began to question whether this guy failed remedial math or just had a bizarre appreciation for mediocre customer service.

Then there was the unanswered question of why he was in Virginia in the first place.

Octavia seemed closer to getting that answer on her next phone call with Clarke.

“The guy from the bar?  Wait.  Are you talking about Lincoln?”

Octavia sat up in bed.  “Lincoln?”  Since he only paid in cash for the last two weeks she had been serving him, Octavia never learned his name.

“The gigantic bald guy who looks good in a v-neck, right?” Clarke asked, to which Octavia wholeheartedly agreed.  “Yeah, he’s actually part of Lexa’s circle of friends.  Or, at least, he _was_ until he hightailed it out of Boston after graduating a semester early.  Come to think of it, he did ask me a question or two about you guys; something about how far you had to travel to surprise me for my birthday, I think.  Who knows?  Maybe he was just looking for a change of scenery.”

“Maybe,” Octavia mirrored, the final word on the subject as Clarke was anxious to discuss Vegas and, more particularly, Lexa’s ideas for making it a “birthday celebration they’ll never forget”.  She wanted to protest Lexa’s involvement in the birthday party planning, especially since she hardly knew the woman, but Clarke was still vulnerable from her mother’s betrayal (seriously, what a bitch) and the last thing she needed was for Octavia to be vocal about her disapproval of Lexa.

Octavia had more important matters to occupy herself with anyway, like this new information that Clarke had given her.  _Lincoln_.  It wasn’t at all what she thought his name would be, yet it somehow suited his stoic and towering presence.  Clarke’s intelligence on the man called Lincoln had now assured Octavia of one of two things: that he was looking to get away or that he was searching for something—more specifically, someone.

“Your hair looks nice when it’s down.”

Octavia blinked in surprise.  Two weeks of having the guy barely acknowledging her presence and out of the blue he pays her a compliment as she’s refilling his coffee mug.  “Uh, thanks.  I’m actually supposed to wear it up due to health code violations or something, but my hair tie broke so tough shit, FDA.”

“Well,” he said, nodding absently.  “It looks nice.”

That could’ve been it.  She could’ve left the bill on the table and just walked away so they could continue with this charade same time, same place the next day.  But Octavia was not one to let sleeping dogs lie.

She tucked herself into the booth opposite Lincoln and leaned against the plush headboard.  “So, were you planning on asking me out at any point?”

Her abrupt inquiry caught him off guard. “I’m sorry?”

“I know who you are…Lincoln.  What I haven’t quite figured out is if you remember me.”

Lincoln raised the coffee mug to his lips to hide the smile threatening to appear.  He took a tentative sip.  “Yeah.  I remember you.”

Those pesky, metaphorical butterflies fluttered around her stomach, but she kept them at bay to continue her interrogation.  “So, what then?  Are you keeping tabs on me or something?”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”  He seemed to find his courage then, locking eyes with Octavia as one side of his mouth slanted upward.

“I mean, I'm no detective,” Octavia began coolly, “but I can put two and two together just as easily as the next person.  We meet in Boston and two months later you relocate to the same far off town I happen to reside in.  Now, unless Fredericksburg miraculously had some amazing job vacancy that you just couldn’t pass up, you can see why I’d assume it’s because of me.”

Lincoln considered her theory carefully.  “Not bad, Sherlock, but you're missing a few pieces of the puzzle.  You see, the recession has made the job market highly volatile in recent years, and even though I now have a Bachelor’s in Manufacturing Engineering, I’m not in any position to turn down lucrative offers right now.  So, when my cousin told me about the project management position available at his father-in-law’s manufacturing company in Virginia, it seemed logical for me to make the move.”

“Oh,” Octavia replied, confidence waning.  _Well, shit.  There goes that theory_.  “I guess, um, that random coincidences _do_ happen then.”

Something changed in his demeanor as he took out his wallet to throw down a $10--which, like every instance prior, he'd refuse to take the change from.  “Then again, I may not have discovered this opportunity if I didn’t contact my cousin immediately after Clarke told me that her friends came all the way from Fredericksburg, Virginia to surprise her.  Still a coincidence?”

Okay, so maybe there was more to this guy than great tips and killer biceps.  She bit back a smile.  “My mom used to say that there are no accidents in life, only moments in time with different explanations according to how one sees the world.”

Lincoln folded his hands on the table and leaned forward, holding Octavia’s gaze.  “And how do you see the world?”

“The answer to _that_ ,” she started, finally rising from the booth, “will have to be saved for another day as I have other tables to see to.”

“Okay."  His chest heaved as he took a long, steadying breath.  "How about Thursday then?  Seven o’clock at the Old Towne Restaurant?”

Octavia was equal parts smug and ecstatic.  Here was this fine-looking specimen charming the pants off of her before ultimately asking her out--which she called, thank you very much.  And, come on, Old Towne?  The fanciest restaurant in town?  When has she ever turned down an opportunity to gorge herself on premium steak and shrimp?

But then she had another thought, small yet nagging as it wormed it's way into her brain, telling her to take a step back and assess this situation.  As handsome as Lincoln was, he was also a stranger that pretty much admitted to moving to a new town to be close to her.

“Sounds tempting,” Octavia replied, running a hand through her hair, “but I hardly know you.”

It was then that she realized that nagging little voice inside her head was Bellamy.  She'd never tell him this, of course, the influence he had on her.

Lincoln's gaze turned calculating.  “Isn’t that what dinner’s for?  To get to know each other better?”

“In some circles, perhaps.”  She thought about her prior relationships and how they all crashed and burned because she rushed into them, her heart a tattoo on her wrist for all to see.  She didn’t want that with Lincoln.  She wanted the potential for something more.  “I read somewhere that there were regions of the Philippines that had these very specific courtship rules, involving midnight serenades and secret love letters and I think it even said something about love charms, which is silly but fascinating, nonetheless.”

“I don’t know if I could do all that," he said with a shake of his head.  "I’ve been told I have the voice of a tire screeching against the asphalt.  That’s a direct quote from my mom.”

Octavia laughed.  “Alright, we’ll take singing off the table.  Why don’t you play to your strengths instead?  Woo me, Lincoln.  That’s all I ask.”  With these parting words she left to check on the status of table three’s food order in the kitchen.

The next few weeks brought forth a series of compelling events.  On day one, Lincoln left a single red rose beside his bill upon leaving.  When Octavia saw him the next day, she thanked him...in her own way.  "Roses are great and all, but I'm rather partial to magnolias."

On day five, he walked into the Waffle House holding a bouquet of origami magnolias.  They were exquisitely crafted and sprayed with perfume, fragrant notes of honeysuckle and sandlewood infiltrating her nose.  She could’ve put him out of his misery then and there, but was rather curious to see what else he had in store.

On day nine, he drank his coffee slowly, stealing lengthier glances in her direction but never saying a word.  When Lincoln bid her adieu  with a smile and a nod, she returned to his now vacant table to find a small pencil drawing underneath his paid bill.  It was a sketch of Mulan—except, it wasn’t Mulan.  It was her. 

Every detail of her face was painstakingly accurate, from the swoop of her brow to the square set of her jaw.  Her armor was embroidered with Chinese symbols, drawn with the elegance of calligraphy, and clutched to her chest was the hilt of a broadsword.  Octavia briefly wondered how Lincoln knew that Mulan was her favorite Disney character until she remembered the pin that adorned her apron.   _So, he really was paying attention,_ she thought.

Staring at the picture as if it were her own reflection, Octavia was suddenly overcome with a sense of power, ferocity and, most of all, beauty.

She had never felt so beautiful in someone else's eyes before.  It was a feeling she never wanted to forget.

This drawing became one of her most prized possessions after that point and was also the deciding factor in finally putting an end to this courtship business. 

It was weird how nervous she felt when that tall, unassuming drink of water walked into her restaurant the following Monday.  Octavia had been around the block, so to speak, more than a few times.  Making dinner plans and exchanging phone numbers with cute boys came as naturally as breathing to her.  Yet in that moment her palms began to sweat and she suddenly reverted back into that same dumbfounded teen that got starstruck after meeting Justin Timberlake.

This was not off to a good start.

A few minutes later, Bellamy walked in to drop off the house keys that she was apt to forget so she used his arrival as a much needed distraction.  She asked how he slept (“Fine.”) and if he was planning on getting together with Miller after work (“It’s Monday, O.”) but her brother wasn’t really in the mood for small talk as his eyes shifted lazily around the diner.

Bellamy could attest to the fact that their coffee was shit, but Octavia’s employment there allowed free drinks for immediate family members, and, well, he was never one to pass up free coffee if he happened to stop by.  They were out of decaf so she ran to the back to make him a fresh pot.  A couple minutes later, to-go cup in hand, she met Bellamy at the register to log in her employee code for the complimentary beverage.

As they hugged goodbye, Bellamy held on a few seconds longer to whisper something in her ear.  “Hey.  Don’t freak out, but I think you’re being followed.”

Octavia pulled back and squinted up at him.  “What?”

“That creep from the bar is here.  At your 3 o’clock—don’t look!” he interceded as she strained her neck to see.  Although, she didn’t need a visual to know exactly who Bellamy was referring to.

“Bell,” she said, a sigh escaping from her lips, “I’m not being followed.  It’s fine.  There’s no need for you to get all Mama Bear melodramatic.”

Bellamy looked affronted.  “Fine?”  He leaned in close to continue whispering so as not to make a scene.  “The bar was in Boston, O.  This pervert ogled you from across the bar practically the entire night and now he shows up at a diner 500 miles away that you just _happen_ to work at and you don’t think that’s suspicious?”

Octavia shrugged.  “He lives here now.”

Her response apparently did nothing to quell his concerns, his feet shuffling nervously.  “Where?  In an abandoned shack with a soundproof cellar that he’s biding his time to lure you to?”

“Seriously?” she countered with a derisive snort.  “You’ve been watching way too much SVU.  I’m cutting you off.  Look, it’s fine.  You don’t know anything about this situation so please repress those big brother impulses of yours so you don’t wind up attempting something stupid like picking a fight with him.”

“Yeah, right.  Even I’m not _that_ stupid.  I can see the veins in that guy’s bicep from over here.  That’s why I’m leaving this one to the professionals.  The cops should be here any minute.”

The idea seemed so far-fetched that it took Octavia’s brain several seconds to process what her brother just said.  “You did what now?”

Bellamy’s justification for his actions fell on deaf ears because at that same moment Officer Miller and his partner walked into the diner.  She should’ve flagged them down and immediately told them this was all just a big misunderstanding, but she stood frozen, paralyzed by her shock.  Octavia felt so disconnected from reality—like she was in a movie or a really weird dream—that she forgot to act.

After receiving a non-verbal signal from Bellamy, the men in blue carefully approached Lincoln’s table.

“Excuse me, sir,” she heard Miller’s dad say, calmly but with that authoritative fierceness he always seemed to possess.  “Do you mind stepping outside with us?  We need to have a word.”

“On what grounds?” Lincoln asked, skepticism and traces of disgust etched on his face.  This finally brought Octavia out of her reverie.

She shook her brother’s arm to get his attention.  “Bell, you have to stop them!  Lincoln didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Lincoln?” he replied, scrunching up his nose.  “You know his name?”

“Yes!” she insisted.  “And he’s not a stalker.  He’s my friend!”  Which held a modicum of truth, even though few words crossed between them.

Bellamy seemed to suddenly suffer a crisis of conscience, torn between believing his sister’s plea and distrusting the stranger at the booth—who was now showing signs of aggression as Officer Miller’s partner attempted to help him out of his seat.

“I’m not going anywhere with you if you don’t even have the decency to tell me what you’re accusing me of.”  Lincoln’s voice was elevating and by now every occupant of the Waffle House was staring in their general direction.  How she was going to explain this situation to Gus became one more thing she had to worry about.

“Young man, it would be in your best interest not to make a scene and quietly step outside with us so we don’t have to add disorderly conduct to the list.”

“List of what?” Lincoln asked, clearly on his last nerve.

Octavia knew that it would work in Lincoln’s favor to just go with the police and explain his side of the story so Octavia could eventually do her part and corroborate it.  But she also knew that Lincoln’s anger was just—new to town less than a month and already getting visits from the PD for something he’s fairly certain he didn’t do.

The judiciary system was a double-edge sword, and at the way things were escalating, Lincoln might not come out of this unscathed.

Her shot at any potential happy ever after with the guy had pretty much flown out the window, but she was determined to repair the damage her brother had done as best she could.

They started to remove him from the premises but he didn’t make it easy for them.  “Get your damn hands off me!”

Octavia had to announce her arrival three times before the preoccupied men all looked her way, placing a temporary pause on the struggle at hand.  “Hi,” she started, mustering all the sugary-sweet, southern charm she never fully mastered, “I really do hate to intrude on official police business, but Mr.—I mean Officer Miller, you should know that this has all been just a grievous misunderstanding.”

“What’s this about, Octavia?” Officer Miller asked, giving her a stern look.

Octavia picked at her thumbnails and looked up at the cops sheepishly.  “Well, it’s just…you know how protective Bellamy gets.  He likes to think that everything he does is what’s best for me, but sometimes he just ends up exacerbating the situation instead.  He was acting impulsively.  This man is not a stalker and, speaking for my brother, we wish to drop any and all charges against him.”

The two officers glanced at each other—speaking some nonverbal cop language, probably—at the same time that Lincoln mumbled “brother” in confusion.

Papa Miller’s partner spoke up.  “How do we know you’re not being coerced into saying this?  For all we know, this man already has you in his clutches which would make your pleas a product of Stockholm Syndrome.”

Lincoln’s anger returned, the veins in his neck bulging to astronomical proportions, but Octavia caught his gaze and discreetly shook her head to prevent him from making matters worse.  Ignoring the newbie cop’s accusations, she turned to the man she hoped she could count on.  “As much as I appreciate your desire to protect me, Officer Miller, how long have you known me?  Do you honestly think I’m that easily duped?  I don’t even listen to my own brother let alone a guy I just met!  If anything, _I’m_ the one playing the manipulative games, trying to get this innocent young man to shower me with gifts before I finally agreed to go out with him.”

At this, Lincoln stopped struggling altogether and straightened his shoulders.  “Wait.  You mean, you _do_ want to go out with me?”

The hopeful look on his face was so endearing that she momentarily forgot anyone else was around…or that he was on the verge of being handcuffed.  She smiled bashfully.  “Well, yeah.”

Bellamy was apparently done being silent and joined the fray.  “Okay, hold up!  O, please do not tell me you’re considering going out with this guy?  You barely know him!”

Octavia’s shoulders shrugged.  “Stranger things have happened.”

Except this was one thing he _did not_ want to happen.  “No.  I hate to pull this card, but as your brother and legal guardian, I forbid—”

“Bro, I’m gonna stop you there,” she said, lifting a hand in front of him, “because I’m almost 21 and you can’t pull the ‘legal guardian’ card on me anymore.  Also, if you really feel inclined to interfere with my love life, then I guess that gives me the right to call up a certain friend of mine to tell her about your undying love for her…”

She dug for her phone in the pocket of her apron and began dialing random numbers until Bellamy finally took the bait and snatched the phone out of her hands.  “Okay.  Fine.  You win.  David, I rescind my complaint against this guy, Lincoln, or whatever his name is.  I’m sorry to waste your time.”

Officer Miller sighed before nodding for his partner to release Lincoln.  Shaking his head slowly, he patted Bellamy on the shoulder.  “Bellamy, you and Octavia are like family to me, but by god no two siblings have needed to work out their shit more than the pair of you.  Go on and get to work and no more false threats, you here?” 

Bellamy nodded solemnly like a child being scolded, gave his sister a look that said they would continue this discussion later, and then walked out the front door of the establishment with his cooling cup of decaf in hand. 

“Welcome to Fredericksburg, son,” Miller then said, addressing Lincoln before he and his partner made their leave.

There was an awkward tension in the air after the three men departed, Octavia and Lincoln both too stunned for words.  The silence was interrupted by a patron asking for extra syrup to which she gave Lincoln a weak smile before promptly returning to her duties. 

He would probably bolt the moment she turned her back and, honestly, she wouldn’t blame him.  Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he jumped ship altogether and hitched a plane back to Boston at this point.  Octavia came with baggage and that was just something that not all men could handle.  She accepted that.

A part of her had hoped that Lincoln would be different though.

After attending each of her tables to make brief apologies for the police-involved disturbance (and stealing a glance at Lincoln’s corner booth to confirm—dejectedly—that he had fled), Octavia returned to the kitchen with her new orders…and found Lincoln waiting patiently for her by the register.

“I thought you left,” she said, afraid to show the hope that resonated deep in her chest.

“Actually I just wanted to get away from the dining area.  People have a habit of staring after you get into an altercation with cops.”

She smiled, a blush rising in her cheeks.  The smile soon faded though when she remembered that she was to blame for that embarrassing altercation.  “I’m so sorry about my brother.  He’s—”

“Protective,” he finished for her.  “I get that.  Truthfully, I respect it, too.  I guess that just means that my next phase in wooing the fair Octavia is to get on her brother’s good side.”

Hope was blooming now as she beamed up at the tall, dark stranger.  _He won’t be a stranger for long_ , she thought.  “A man after my own heart.”

“It seemed like the right course of action,” he started, reaching his hand out and interlocking his fingers with hers.  Those flipping butterflies really needed to calm the fuck down!  “You know, being a part of your ‘love life’ and all.”

Octavia pressed her free hand to her cheek to hide the embarrassment she felt and remembering her previous words to her brother.  “I obviously meant that as a figure of speech.  I wasn’t saying that I was in…that is to say that we…shit, Lincoln!  Are you gonna ask me out or not?”

He stared at her a moment, a flirtatious grin on his face.  “I get off work at 6pm tonight.  Meet me in the parking lot at 6:30pm?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, thankful that he wasn’t going to make her wait a few days until she saw him again.

“Great.  Then it’s a date.”  With that, he reluctantly relinquished her hand and left the Waffle House.

Forgetting she was still at work herself, Octavia rushed to the bathroom to call Clarke and shriek like a teenager about the cute boy that asked her out.

 


	12. If I Begged and If I Cried

**February 2008**

_Bad things don’t happen to good people._

Bellamy recalled with perfect clarity how Octavia had screamed those words into her pillow after hearing the news of their mother’s death.  At 21, he was still a kid himself, which made it hard to explain to his baby sister that the world wasn’t like a fairytale.  Bad things unfortunately _can_ happen to good people, and good things can happen to bad people.  Things just happen without rhyme or reason, often reminding us of the burden that is our own mortality.

Sometimes, however, more bad things happen than a single person can bear.

Knowing his time with Clarke was few and far between, Bellamy relished every precious, albeit fleeting, moment.  He considered himself lucky if he saw her again after only two months apart, and though he thoroughly enjoyed their late night phone calls, the ideal scenario was to have her home on a more permanent basis.  Bellamy’s thoughts would run away with fantasies of Clarke just packing her things and moving back to Virginia, or, hell, even finding the courage to go out to Boston to be with her.  No matter the location, the end result was always the same: waking up to golden locks draped across his pillow and a pair of violet eyes that would look up and see only him.

It was a fantasy, he knew, but every reunion with Clarke brought those hopeful feelings rushing forth.

This, however, was one reunion he was more than willing to sacrifice.

It all happened so fast.  One day Clarke was calling about plans for Vegas (reminding him, of course, that Lexa and Wells would be joining in on the festivities) and less than a week later he read the shocking headline in The Free Lance Star.  He read it and reread it maybe a dozen times.

A ruptured brain aneurysm, of all things.  According to the article, he had a clean bill of health and never thought to get an MRI to check for pre-existing conditions.  A neurosurgeon went on record to say that these abnormalities can come on so suddenly that it was likely he barely felt a thing.  Perspective, perhaps.  Was it better to die a quick and painless death if it meant foregoing the opportunity to make peace with your life and loved ones?  Bellamy wasn’t all that sure.

His thoughts immediately went to Clarke.

He didn’t know the guy too well—apart from a few conversations, most of his knowledge came from this very paper, highlighting him as the poster child of Fredericksburg for many years. 

Clarke, on the other hand…

He sat on this news with Octavia for hours wondering if Clarke already knew, if it was their responsibility to tell her, and, if it was, how to break the news gently.  In the end, Lexa was the one to tell Clarke, and perhaps that was for the best.  News like this should be told in person and not over the phone.  Bellamy briefly thought how strange it was that Lexa knew in the first place—considering the distance between Boston and Fredericksburg’s local affairs—but when she called Octavia to say that they were coming down for the service, Lexa further explained that Dr. Griffin had used her ‘usual’ methods to relay the message to her after several failed attempts at contacting her daughter directly.

Clarke had also expressed a desire to have both Blake siblings by her side at the funeral service—that is, according to Lexa.  She still wasn’t ready to talk to anyone just yet, which was to be expected.  Bottling up her feelings and shutting down was almost engrained in Clarke at this stage in her life.  There would be no dramatic, emotional catharsis from her.  Not yet, at least.

Bellamy owned exactly one suit.  It was charcoal grey and there were a few creases in the sleeves that his lousy ironing skills couldn’t mend.  How he looked didn’t matter though.  All that mattered was his need to be there for someone he cared about.

It was a sunny Tuesday morning, banks of snow finally melting into tiny patches of slush after last month’s blizzard.  The Blakes set out for the church at a quarter to eight.  It was an early service, appropriate for a mayor who presumably had other town matters to attend to later that day.  Official government business stops for no man—not even a man mourning the death of his only child.

It was no secret that Bellamy opposed everything Mayor Thelonious Jaha represented, but, for one day, he’d let him be.  For one day, Bellamy could empathize with what this man was going through, allowing their mutual differences to be set aside.

For one day.

The church was bursting, residents from all over Fredericksburg coming to pay their respects.  He spotted Clarke’s mother first, elegantly dressed in black as she consoled the grieving mayor.  She would periodically glance at the pew on the opposite end of the room and as Bellamy followed the doctor’s line of sight he saw _her_.

Her black dress was simple, her hair pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and her eyes (often thought the windows to the soul) were shielded by a pair of large wayfarer sunglasses.  She was hiding, safeguarding herself from the world.  Apart from being a bit pale, however, Clarke did not look very altered from the headstrong girl who hugged him goodbye at the Richmond airport at the start of this year. Christmas had been a whirlwind—what with the discovery of her mother’s involvement in her father’s shooting—so it wouldn’t exactly shock him if Clarke had finally become numb to the pain and tragedy that befell her.  He knew from experience how much easier it was to feel nothing than to let yourself feel _everything_.

Octavia collided with her first, and as they lingered in that careful embrace, Clarke’s jaw tensed, straining to keep her emotions at bay—though, surely years of practice had given her this control over herself.  As the two friends broke apart, Clarke’s gaze shifted to Bellamy.  He could see that much through the tinted barrier she wore, but beyond that there was no way for him to know how she was really feeling.  Not unless she wanted him to.

It was a silent exchange.  Words at this juncture either involved fake promises (“everything’s going to be all right”) or inconsequential apologies (“I’m so sorry for your loss”) and Clarke deserved better than that.  Instead, Bellamy reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  The small gesture did its job well, as the tension in Clarke’s shoulders visibly reduced, the faintest hint of a smile gracing her lips.

The service was about to commence and as there were no available spots in the first pew next to Clarke and Lexa, he made his way to the second row where Octavia sat.

At least, he tried to, but Clarke’s petite, porcelain fingers only gripped harder the moment he pulled away.

“Don’t go” came her succinct plea, voice thick and rough from ill-use.  The sincerity of those words was felt as she removed her sunglasses with her free hand.  Clarke’s gaze was fixed on Bellamy, and in that moment he couldn’t see misery or regret behind her eyes, but a new pain.  A fear of being alone.

It was like an epiphany: he was someone she needed.  Clarke Griffin, the resilient and bright doctor-to-be, looked to Bellamy Blake, the college drop-out turned tradesman, as her crutch.  When had their roles in this relationship become so interchangeable?

If Clarke wanted him at her side, then who was he to stop her?  Except, in this instance, Bellamy wasn’t the obstacle—a crowded church pew was.  He’d sit on the floor at her feet if he had to, but hoped an alternative would present itself.

After what felt like an eternity of standing—the minister now behind his podium and clearing his throat to gain the congregation’s attention—Bellamy made eye contact with Lexa, who skeptically looked between him and Clarke before reluctantly vacating her spot and moving to sit next to Octavia.  Clarke did not react to Lexa’s departure, instead maneuvering her hand to interlock her fingers with Bellamy’s as they sat side-by-side.

The sermon was reflective and poignant, even to someone like Bellamy who outspokenly jeered at the Christian influence of our government’s laws and ordinances. _Love and death are the two great hinges on which all human sympathies turn._

A few close friends and family members shared the podium to openly reflect on the short life of Wells Jaha, testifying to his kindness and loyalty and even sharing a few humorous anecdotes about him, but neither his father nor Clarke had the strength to make their peace just yet.

Throughout the entire emotionally charged ordeal, Clarke never once removed her hand from Bellamy’s.  She was a ship and he was her anchor, doing all he could to prevent her weary mind and body from drifting off into the endless ocean.

As it ended, people filtered out of the church doors in droves.  Many made their way over to the Hyatt for the post-memorial reception.  Why a funeral needed a reception afterwards was beyond Bellamy’s understanding, but he knew that as much as Clarke wanted to be free of this place and these people, she was, much to her chagrin, obligated to interact with all of the townsfolk that knew her in her youth so they could express their condolences.

It was difficult to watch her put on a sympathetic smile amidst the well wishes and other words of comfort exchanged.  Bellamy could see right through the charade, even as she continued to hide behind her sunglasses.  Their condolences weren’t worth a damn to Clarke, but as a prominent resident of Fredericksburg and Dr. Abigail Griffin’s only daughter, she was forced to play her part.

Evading her mother was no easy task either.  Every time the woman tried to get close to her, Clarke would make abrupt excuses with whoever she was talking to before slithering in between the guests to reach the other side of the room.  By Dr. Griffin’s fourth attempt, Octavia had hit her breaking point, deciding that passive resistance wasn’t really effective.  She stalked toward the imposing woman before Bellamy or Clarke could stop her and after a few words were exchanged between them, Octavia returned and Dr. Griffin—after glancing at Clarke one final time—retreated back to the mayor’s entourage.

“We’re good,” Octavia then announced, smugly.

A short while later, Bellamy felt his phone vibrating in the pocket of his pants.  He ignored it of course, southern courtesies preventing him from checking his phone in the middle of a funeral reception.  Whoever was trying to get a hold of him, however, was persistent, and after the third call, he decided to excuse himself.

Clarke failed to mask her apprehension over his leaving, but he assured her that he would return momentarily as he brushed a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

It was a work call, which he honestly should’ve expected.  Bellamy put in a request to take the day off entirely last minute, but—under the circumstances—the foreman felt compelled to oblige. That didn’t mean, of course, that they would leave him be completely, calling about frivolous matters that Miller could’ve easily handled in his stead.  Having been with the company for nearly six years, Bellamy had become such an integral member of the team that he realistically should be in management by now.

If only he was able to finish getting that god damn degree.

Someday, perhaps.

The work-related matter was quickly resolved and as Bellamy returned to the banquet hall, his path was unexpectedly blocked.

“Lexa,” he greeted civilly. 

When Clarke first introduced them at Christmas, he was hard-pressed to welcome her with open arms.  Personal feelings aside, Lexa just seemed a bit abrasive, often displacing the fierce amount of passion she clearly possessed.  But Clarke liked her—really liked her, apparently—and he convinced himself for years never to interfere in that aspect of her life. 

“I’m glad you and Clarke were able to make it down for the service,” he continued, to which she gave no verbal acknowledgement.  “How’s Boston?  More importantly, how’s Clarke?  It’s hard to get a read on her right now which is kind of worrisome.”

The amount of disgust on Lexa’s face as she stared down Bellamy seemed almost illusory, like a Telenueva star having a stand-off with their arch nemesis.  Was he supposed to bring his pistols and meet her at dawn?

“I know your game, Bellamy.”

Um, okay?  Maybe Lexa could clue him in on what that game was.  “I’m sorry,” he said, hiding how disconcerted he began to feel by her dominating presence, “but I’m not sure I understand your meaning.”

She delivered her words with a stoic savagery.  “I see the way you look at Clarke, like she’s the light at the end of the dark, miserable tunnel that is your life.”

“Wow,” Bellamy reflected, eyebrows raised as he scratched the light stubble on his neck.  “You know, it’s clear that we’re both in agreement that we’re not friends here, and probably never will be, so please don’t assume that you know anything about me.  What?  You spend a few days under my roof—which I graciously offered, by the way—and you think you got me pegged, huh?”

“Actually,” Lexa started, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “I had my speculations then, but it wasn’t until the service that I realized how desperate you were to make Clarke happy.”

“Since when is making Clarke happy a bad thing?” Bellamy furrowed his brow as the conversation took a turn.  “I get that this arrogant bravado of yours works on a lot of people, but you’re not gonna shake me.  We just came from a funeral for Clarke’s closest friend, for Christ’s sake!  Show some respect—and decency, while you’re at it.”

His assertion barely got a rise out of Lexa and he wondered how commonplace it was for her to get into verbal (or even physical) disagreements with other people.

“Clarke is extraordinarily vulnerable right now,” she said, as if they both already didn’t know that, “and I get, on some level, that she needs you…but only as a friend.  You need to stop blurring the lines between friendship and something more.  It’s confusing her and, by the looks of it, probably giving you false hope.”

Bellamy briefly wondered if Clarke was starting to get anxious without one or both of them there and decided it was time to end this.  “I’m sorry if you feel threatened, Lexa, but let’s not forget that _she_ was the one who wanted me by her side today.  _She_ chose not to let go of my hand.  If you have a problem with this, then you need to take it up with Clarke—not me.”

His attempt to walk around the girl and find his way back to Clarke was thwarted when she grabbed his arm in earnest, ensuring that she had the final say.  “Just keep your distance, pretty boy, and remember that I’m the one nestled between her thighs at night, helping her find the release she really needs.”

Bellamy froze, the mental image Lexa’s words created temporarily incapacitating him.  She used that opportunity to make her exit, a satisfied smirk dancing on her lips.

He never before allowed himself to dwell on the implications of each of Clarke’s relationships, but Lexa kind of made it difficult not to.  The blue-blooded male in him admittedly found ‘girls loving girls’ to be fairly erotic, but this?

This made his stomach churn.

Jealousy was the first emotion to surface, but then it turned into something more.  His heart started pounding wildly as his anger swelled at the thought of Clarke giving herself to someone like Lexa.  Someone who used sex as a weapon and who outwardly claimed ownership of her partner at a funeral, of all places.  He didn’t like Lexa before, but now he detested her.

Bellamy wished he had the courage to tell Clarke what he really thought of Lexa.  Clarke deserved so much better.  She deserved someone who wasn’t so easily threatened by other people in her life, who could at least admit to having insecurities just like the rest of the world.

But deep down Bellamy knew he would never say these things to Clarke because just like with that abominable mistake, Finn Collins, he had no right to criticize her actions—not unless it presented a danger to her safety.

Lexa would eventually break Clarke’s heart.  He just hoped it wasn’t already too broken to handle another tear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I would like to comment on this chapter because I don't want people thinking I'm shitting on Lexa by making her such a possessive bitch. I don't believe this is completely true to her character in the show, I just chose to make her that way for the context of this story line. I've given Clarke crappy relationships that she's initially blind to for a reason. I hope that makes sense. Feel free to let me know if you don't understand my logic behind this rationale. That's all. Thanks again!


	13. Got Me Hoping You'll Save Me Right Now

**April 2008**

 

Like a shadow, trauma followed Clarke wherever she went.  Like a shadow, it was a part of her, a second skin that she wanted to shed but never could.  Her mother’s recent ‘indiscretions’ had seemed to be the final straw.  Six years of Clarke’s life was spent built on a lie, and at this point she was ready to push those years into the recesses of her mind and start over with a blank slate.  It was time for a new lease on life. 

Clarke had already moved most of her stuff out of her childhood home—step one.  She even started looking at available condos and apartments in Boston in hopes of convincing Bellamy, Octavia, and Wells to move up there with her.  She didn’t want a reason to go back to Fredericksburg anymore—too many polluted memories there.  All she wanted was to be happy and surround herself with people that she loved, and since going to medical school still reminded her of her disgraceful mother, maybe it was time to pursue a different occupation.  She liked science, so there was always Biochemistry; or she could study something like Marine Biology to work with animals.  Clarke had even considered pulling a complete 180 and choosing something unconventional like Art or Education.  She was young and the possibilities her future held were still endless.

And then the unthinkable happened.

Her shadow became a looming presence once more and with it came the obligation to deny, get angry, bargain, or sink herself into a hole of depression—she knew the steps well.  Losing her lifelong friend wasn’t an obligation though.  She _wanted_ to feel these feelings for him, she really did, but it had all just become so…exhausting.   Clarke had reached the precipice of grief, and instead of standing strong and working through this new trauma with the help of her loyal friends, she ignored them and jumped headfirst into a cold, numbing existence.

No pain.  No joy.  All of her energy would now solely focus on tangible realities, things that she had control over and that didn’t make her question everything she ever knew.

School ended up being the perfect distraction, her mission to become a doctor now her primary purpose in life.   She had been a part of a work study program at MetroWest Medical Center since January and though she was only an office assistant there, she reminded herself that it was a necessary stepping stone in eventually reaching her long-term goals.  Working at the hospital had given her the opportunity to interpret patient files as well as observe the doctors that could potentially be her future mentors—like Dr. Landon, top cardiologist at MetroWest.  The work study had, admittedly, condensed her already hectic schedule and it didn’t pay much, but she had to do something.  More than anything, Clarke just wanted to find a way to finance the rest of her education so she no longer had to accept her mother’s handouts.  This paper trail was the only thread that currently kept them tethered—at least for the next four years.

After a rather arduous week, Clarke was apt to treat herself that Friday night, unwinding at home with some light music and a bottle of 2006 Ecco Domani Pinot Gris.  Her peaceful night of solitude however was interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing against the granite kitchen countertop.

Clarke rolled her eyes when she recognized who was calling.  “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” she answered, in place of a formal greeting.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bellamy’s voice sounded through the receiver.

Except the constant barrage of phone calls from him (and occasionally his sister) made her think otherwise.  “I don’t need a babysitter, Bell.  It’s been almost two months.  The fact that I’m not living in filth and have been more productive than ever at school tells me that I’m a model of resilience.”

“I’m hurt, Griffin, that you actually think I have ulterior motives in calling you.  Can’t a guy miss his friend and want to catch up?”

“Not if that friend,” she started, refusing to buy into his blasé demeanor, “called to ‘catch up’ less than 24 hours ago.  So, unless something interesting happened since then—”

“Actually,” he interrupted, “something did happen.  Raven called me this morning.”

Clarke waited for Bellamy to continue, but when he didn’t she urged him on.  “And?”

He released a mournful sigh.  “ _And_ she told me that you declined her invite to go out with them tonight…again.”

Clarke’s irritation escalated at an alarming rate.  “Unbelievable!  You guys are discussing me behind my back now?!  What is this: middle school?”

“She’s just concerned, as am I.  I get that you think you’re being productive, but the fact that you haven’t spent time with any of your friends in Boston makes me think that you’re hiding behind your work.”

“What friends?” Clarke asked defensively.  “Your consensus is literally just based on the fact that I haven’t spent time with Raven and Wick recently.  Besides, all of my other so-called ‘friends’ chose Lexa in the divorce, so…”

Bellamy cleared his throat.  “Um, yeah.  Octavia told me you guys broke up a few weeks ago.  I’m sorry.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

Obviously they had been in correspondence during that time, so it was a fair question for him to ask considering their whole “no boundaries” rule.  “I don’t know.  You never asked.  And it just didn’t seem important at the time.”

“It’s important when your girlfriend’s not the only person you’ve lost in the last few months.”  She had no response to that, choosing instead to sip her wine and hope the effects kicked in soon.  Bellamy immediately sensed her discomfort toward the subject.  “So, if you don’t mind my asking, what made you and Lexa call it quits?”

The short answer?  “She gave me an ultimatum, and I didn’t choose her.”

“Didn’t choose her over what?” he asked, his curiosity already piqued.

There were few occasions when Clarke felt compelled to lie to Bellamy, and this was certainly one of them.  “My, uh, work.  She claimed that I wasn’t spending enough time with her and asked me what was more important: my work study program or her?”

“And you chose the former.”  It wasn’t even a question, more an affirmation of what he already knew.

Clarke swallowed as she envisioned that fateful argument in her head.  “Yep.”  In truth, there _was_ an ultimatum presented, but it was never about school or work.  Lexa had blatantly expressed her displeasure towards Clarke’s relationship with Bellamy, and in the end she was forced to choose.

Her decision was made without hesitation.

“Well,” he started, “for what it’s worth, I think you made the right decision.  Relationships often come and go, but _this_?  This is your future, Clarke.”

She smiled, finding herself suddenly longing for the presence of her adorably overprotective friend.  “I couldn’t agree more.” Her smile faded though, instantly feeling selfish for letting herself think such happy thoughts, even if it was only for a moment.  Wells would never get to experience happiness again, and since Clarke essentially robbed him of that feeling for years by ignorantly blaming him for something he never did, then she didn’t deserve to be happy either.

Happiness was a disingenuous charade anyway—something society manufactured as a means to unburden the guilt that humans should habitually feel for all of the atrocities they have committed over the years. 

In short: people sucked. 

Well…most people.

“Hey,” she said softly, emotion welling up in her throat as she attempted to swallow it down, “do you ever think about how things would’ve turned out if you didn’t offer to drop me off at college three years ago?”

“Dwelling on what if scenarios,” he answered, “are kind of a waste of time, in my opinion.”

A logical response.  Clarke had certainly wasted days, if not months, of her life wondering if certain decisions she made involving her father and Wells could’ve potentially changed their fate.  “I know, but it just had me thinking.  I mean, a singular moment in time is all it takes to change your life forever.  Kinda makes you appreciate the little things.”

“Talking to me was life-changing, huh?” Bellamy responded, undoubtedly sporting a carefully arched brow to match his self-inflated ego.  “Flattery aside, I’m not so sure we wouldn’t have become friends if not for that road trip.  Some things are just—”  He stopped short and for a moment Clarke thought the connection was lost.  “Hang on.  Are you watching _Donnie Darko_?”

Clarke pursued her lips.  “No.”

“No?”

What was this?  An interrogation?  “No, I’m not.”  Conversation stilled after that, and Clarke wondered if he did so to focus his efforts on listening through the receiver.  Eventually, she cracked.  “It’s the soundtrack, okay?”

He let out a weary sigh.  “I obviously wouldn’t question your owning this movie soundtrack—I’ve stopped questioning your musical taste altogether—but do you really think that’s the best thing to listen to right now?”

Clarke’s patience was being tested.  She’d like to think he was saying these things out of concern, but it was difficult for her to see it as anything but another criticism.  “Do you have a better suggestion?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Literally anything that is not from a psychologically disturbing drama about death.  I mean, seriously, Clarke.  You make claims that your fine, and yet here you are, on a Friday night, holing up in your apartment—alone—drinking wine and listening to ‘Mad World’.”

“I never said anything about wine,” she remarked, accusatorily.

“So are you saying that you’re _not_ in the process of polishing off some form of white wine?”

Clarke huffed as the remaining content of the wine bottle made its way into her glass.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Judgy McJudgerson, but I thought you were calling as my friend, and seeing as this is starting to sound like a therapy session I’m really tempted to just hang up on you.”

“No, don’t hang up!  I’m sorry.  I swear I did not intend for this to sound like an attack.  Voicing my worries just comes with old age, I guess.  I will officially make my piece with it so we can talk about something else now.  Your choice.  I promise.”

Though Clarke was rather fond of those nights they would stay up and talk on the phone till the wee hours of the morning, the harsh truth was that recent events made talking to _him_ more painful than she was willing to admit—even to herself.  In the span of a couple of months, Clarke had broken up with her girlfriend, lost her closest childhood friend and learned that her mother was, and would now remain, a stranger to her.  Seeing Bellamy at Wells’ memorial service had solidified one singular thought: losing _him_ was not an option.  He was her rock, her symbol of hope, and she was pretty sure that she was in love with him.

Though, technically speaking, they were just friends, Clarke’s intense attachment towards Bellamy represented a part of herself she wasn’t ready to let in yet.  Self-deprecation was like a dark cloud that constantly loomed overhead, and since she felt she didn’t deserve happiness, by default that meant she didn’t deserve Bellamy either.

“Listen, Bellamy, I appreciate the sentiment and all—honestly, I do—but you need to understand that I am fine, or at the very least, I will be.  And if I start to feel like it’s more than I can bear, I promise that you will be the first person I call.”

He didn’t respond, though she could practically hear the excuses and arguments mulling around in his head. 

“I really should go,” she continued, after worrying her bottom lip raw.  “I ordered a pizza 20 minutes ago so it should be here any minute.”

“Clarke…”

He sighed out her name and it perturbed her how much emotion was attached to hearing this one syllable uttered from his lips.  “We’ll talk soon, okay?” she countered, not allowing him the opportunity to vocalize his thought.  “Bye, Bell.”  Clarke hit ‘end’ and put the phone on silent and somewhere out of reach.  If he tried to call again—which was likely—she didn’t want to be tempted to answer.

The fact that her brain currently felt like it was swimming did not deter Clarke from returning to the kitchen for wine bottle # 2.  Perhaps a fizzy Moscato this round, she thought.  As she rinsed her glass in the sink, there came a knock at the door.

“Finally,” she grumbled, forcing her feet to move toward the front door.  When she opened it, however, the tantalizing aroma of cheese and pepperoni did not infiltrate her nose.

Clarke was momentarily stunned into silence as she struggled to comprehend the fact that in place of a pizza delivery boy stood the one and only Bellamy Blake.

He gave her a crooked smile that was soft, with just a hint of sympathetic sadness.  “You know, you ruined my surprise.”

Her jaw retracted in an attempt to speak, but words still escaped her.  Was this real?  Did he really drive all this way…just for her?  Was she even worth that level of devotion?

Without a response from Clarke, Bellamy continued.  “I mean, the look on your face is proof of how surprised you still are, but I had this whole plan to keep you on the phone as you opened the door, but, of course, you _had_ to hang up on me.”

“Why are you here?” she finally asked upon recovering her voice.  Clarke’s gaze did not waver from the tall, strapping man before her, searching him out for a logical explanation for this turn of events.  He wasn’t supposed to be here.  She told him she was fine.  She told him she could deal with this on her own.

Bellamy shrugged his shoulders.  “I missed you.”

A startling revelation struck her like a bolt of lightning: _she wasn’t fine_.

Clarke’s eyes begin to sting with the threat of unshed tears.  Without warning, surprise faded into grief, an overwhelming misery that pushed heavy against her lungs and almost felt like drowning.  Bellamy’s lopsided smile vanished the moment he detected a tremble in her bottom lip.  He knew how she was really feeling.

Perhaps he always knew.

“I don’t want him to be gone,” Clarke stammered out, her composure deflating as she found herself gasping for air.  “I want him back.”

Bellamy wasted no time crossing the threshold to her apartment and enfolding her in his arms.  She could hear his heart beating, feel the prickling warmth of his chest against her cheek.  The sanctuary of his comforting embrace allowed Clarke to finally—after months of living in denial—let her guard down, the floodgates bursting forth and releasing all the pain that resided within.  She cried into his shoulder, reflexively clutching the back of his shirt in her fist.  It hurt to feel these things again, to know she wasn’t strong enough to deal with such a devastating loss…time and time again.  Not on her own.

She needed this, needed him.  Bellamy expected nothing of her, asked no questions, only closed the door behind him as he continued to hold on tight, giving Clarke all the time in the world to mourn and feel.

They stood like that for several minutes until Clarke leaned back and saw the state of Bellamy’s t-shirt, embarrassment augmenting her already rosy cheeks.  When she tried to apologize, he wordlessly took her face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs swiping over the damp flesh under her eyes.  The act alone was enough to silence her.

They were interrupted when the pizza arrived (Bellamy persistent as ever when it came to paying the guy) and as they sat nestled on the couch, gorging themselves on greasy, cheesy goodness, another 20 minutes passed before Clarke spoke again.

“How long will you stay?”  She couldn’t disguise the hopefulness in her voice as she awaited his answer.

“Just for the weekend.  I’ve got a project meeting Monday morning that I can’t be late for.”

Clarke nodded knowingly.  “Then we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

And they did.

First and foremost, Bellamy was able to convince Clarke to nix the _Donnie Darko_ melodrama.  He went back to his car and returned with what he donned “the greatest trilogy of all time…and no, I’m not talking about The Godfather, a trilogy that to all film lovers doesn’t count as a trilogy because we don’t talk about Godfather III.”

No.  He was, of course, referring to _The Mighty Ducks_.

They got halfway through _D2_ before exhaustion hit Clarke and she passed out on the couch.  She didn’t realize Bellamy had carried her to her room until she woke the next morning in her own bed.

Saturday ended up being one of the best days Clarke had in a long time.  She forgot how amazing this city was, dragging Bellamy to all her favorite sights and attractions.  They first rode the bus down to Hanover Street, arriving early to beat the line at her favorite pastry shop.  Sipping their coffee, they then took a stroll through the Boston Public Garden, where Clarke pointed out her favorite tree to sit under on those hectic mornings when she just needed to clear her head.  She even threw in a historical trolley tour to Bellamy’s utter delight.  On it they passed local landmarks like the Old State House, the Boston Tea Party ships, and Fenway Park.  Bellamy couldn’t decide what he was more excited to see and she loved watching every minute of his excitement, smiling along with him.

Later that night, when they were back at Clarke’s apartment, he stumbled upon an unopened box her mother sent.  When she received it a month ago she had convinced herself that she didn’t care what was in it and even tried to tell Bellamy as much.

“Then why do you still have it?” he asked pointedly.

Fair point.

She let Bellamy do the honors, handing him a pair of scissors from the kitchen.

His eyes widened in surprise as he began sifting through the box.  “Um, probably a good thing you didn’t throw this away just yet.”  He moved his findings over to the coffee table in front of the couch and before long curiosity get the better of Clarke, so she followed.

She now understood Bellamy’s look of disbelief.  It was pretty much the most sentimental thing her mother had done for her in…well, she couldn’t rightly say how long.  Since she was a kid, maybe.

Since some of these photos were taken, perhaps.

Inside the box were several compact albums full of photos—photos of her and Wells…and even her father.  They were organized by year, and as Clarke flipped through them nostalgia took hold, exploring these memories becoming her new favorite obsession.  Many of these moments in time were all but forgotten and seeing the photos had brought them to life again, as if it happened yesterday instead of 10 years ago. 

“Oh, and this one!” she exclaimed, now perusing the third album labeled Fall 2000.  Clarke pointed at a photo of Wells with his arm wrapped around her, both striking dramatic poses like the prepubescent teens they were.  “This was one of my favorite Halloweens ever.  This was the first year we were allowed to attend the town’s annual ‘Halloween Haunt’ and knowing there would be costume contests, we pulled out all the stops.  I, obviously, decided to go as Zenon…”

The dumbfounded expression he gave Clarke forced her to elaborate.

“Girl of the 21st Century?”  Still nothing.  “Honestly, Bellamy, it’s like you grew up under a rock.  It’s a made-for-tv Disney movie about a girl who lived in space.  That movie practically defined a teen generation.  Anyway, I was Zenon and Wells was Ash.  He was in a weird Pokemon phase.  We were so proud of these costumes though, and we thought they were so original, but the prize, unfortunately, went to some guy dressed as Neo—go figure.  Wells won the next year though.”

“What was his winning costume?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke snorted.  “Would you believe, of all things, LeVar Burton from Reading Rainbow?”  Bellamy wound up laughing along with her.  “I mean, seriously!  It was so ridiculous!  I’m pretty sure he was out of options for costume ideas the day of the party so he just drew on a fake moustache, snatched one of his nanny’s clip-on earrings, and carried a children’s book with him the entire night.  And the adults ate it up! They especially loved it when he started belting out the theme song.”

Bellamy nodded.  “Which you still know all the words to, right?”

“ _Butterfly in the sky_!”

“And I just _had_ to open my big, fat mouth.” 

Clarke smiled brightly and continued.  “ _I can go twice as high_!”  He pretended to cringe but the goofy grin plastered across his face told her that he was enjoying this just as much as she was.  “ _Take a look.  It’s in a book.  A reading rainbow_!”

He shook his head.  “Wow.  You know, this should be your audition tape for American Idol.”  She started to go into the second verse, but Bellamy cut her off, seizing the open photo album from her grasp and digging through the box for a new one.  “Let’s see what else we can reminisce about, shall we?  What about this one—Summer 1998.”

“Ooh!”  She abandoned her pursuit to further embarrass Bellamy when she remembered what she’d find in this album.  “That was the summer I went to science camp!”

“Of course it was,” Bellamy muttered under his breath before leaning back against the couch.

She retaliated by elbowing him in the ribs.  “Laugh all you want, but this camp was special.  It was the first time I realized I wasn’t the only kid with a weird, nerdy hobby.  I mean, Wells always hung around when I wanted to watch Forensic Files or do crazy experiments by combining household products, but he was _never_ as fascinated as I was.  Meeting the kids at this camp opened my eyes to so many possibilities.  Plus, it was a fucking blast!”

“Wait,” Bellamy interjected, flipping back to the previous page to point at a photo of Clarke and a few other kids smiling for the camera, protective eyewear hanging from their necks.  “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yep,” she replied, flashing him a self-assured grin.  “Science camp was also where I first met Jasper and Monty.”

Bellamy laughed outright.  “Holy crap!  This is hysterical!  I wonder if this was what prompted his goggle fashion choice.  Hey, does O know about this?”  He proceeded to pull the photo out of the plastic sleeve.  “If not, we definitely need to show her this.”

Clarke tried to grab it from him, but his reflexes were faster—also his arms were longer, making it easier for him to keep things out of reach from her.  “Hey!  That’s _my_ memory, thank you very much.  Sharing it with Octavia can wait.”

“Um, having photographical evidence of Thing One and Thing Two as mini dorks really can NOT wait.”

After a few more seconds, Clarke gave up the fight, going back to perusing the album in her lap.  “Fine, but you better give that back to me in the same condition you found it, Bellamy Blake.  I need to preserve these for as long as I can.”

She came across a photo of her and Wells reuniting after their respective camps—he went to space camp, evidenced by the homemade rocket he brandished in the picture.  It was kinda funny how she was smiling in almost every photo taken of them.  It wasn’t surprising though.  That’s how they were.  They made each other happy.

Bellamy had been such a wonderful distraction today that she almost forgot to be sad.  But seeing photo after photo of all of the amazing moments she was fortunate enough to share with Wells reminded Clarke that she didn’t have to grieve to continue remembering her best friend.  His memory would live on in these albums and in her thoughts.  Just like her father, there would always be a special place for him in her life.

Though Clarke still harbored feelings of regret for the years she spent not speaking to him, Well’s death had taught her a valuable lesson about how fleeting life is and how important it was to cherish every moment spent with loved ones.

Bellamy was on the other side of the room putting the photo in his backpack while Clarke carefully studied him.

“I wish you didn’t have to go back to Virginia tomorrow.”

He looked up and smiled in agreement.  “I know.  It’s been a good weekend.  If you weren’t so goddamn far away, I could do this more often.”

“I mean it,” she said, holding his gaze to assure him of her sincerity.  “I want you to stay.  I want you to move to Boston.”

“Clarke—”

“Think about it,” she interrupted.  “What’s holding you back?  Honestly?  It’s definitely not your job.  You’re committed to it, like all things in your life, but we both know it’s not what you _really_ want to do.”

Bellamy straightened and rubbed a hand over his face.  “I can’t just abandon O so suddenly.  You know that.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Oh, please.  Octavia hasn’t needed a legal guardian for three years now.  You’re gonna need to let her go out on her own eventually.  Besides, the last I heard, she spends most nights at Lincoln’s place, only making guest appearances at the apartment.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said with clenched fists.  They never really talked about it before, but Clarke had the feeling that since Octavia started dating the tattooed beefcake, Bellamy had become even more protective of her.

Clarke furrowed her brow.  “It’s easy to label guys like Lincoln as the ‘bad boy’ or ‘rebel’, but I can vouch for him, Bell.  He’s a really good guy and it’s obvious that he cares about your sister.  I mean, can you honestly remember any relationship that she’s been in for this long?  That in itself is a testament to how real this thing is between them.”

Bellamy’s frustration had hit a tipping point as he slammed his backpack against the ground and stalked to the other side of the room.  He stared out the window, watching all the headlights go flashing by.  “It was a good weekend, Clarke.  Please don’t put a stain on it by bringing that up?”

“I only bring it up,” Clarke countered, “because I don’t want you to have any more excuses to not stay here…with me.  Please, Bell.  I need you.”  She’d never said that to him before.  Hell, she certainly thought it more than a dozen times, but without actually saying the words, Bellamy couldn’t have known how much he meant to her.  Not really.

His anger subsided after that and before long he was once again sitting on the couch, looking at Clarke with an intensity that she wanted to freeze and hold onto forever.  “Do you know why I _really_ drove up here yesterday?”  She shook her head slowly in response.  “Because I didn’t want you to be alone.  I hate the thought of you secluded in this apartment while you try to digest everything that’s happened recently.  I hate being hundreds of miles away from you and not being able to rush over whenever you need.  God, Clarke, if packing up your whole life were that easy, I would’ve moved to Boston a while ago.”

“But…” she said, waiting for the inevitable.  Her gaze dropped to her lap, hands fiddling with the pages of an album.

“But we both know it’s not as easy as that.  I’m lucky to have a full-time job without a degree.  I can’t just quit and hope I’ll find something better up here.  There’s a lot of decisions I need to make in my life before I make a move like that.”

Clarke nodded solemnly, distracted by the sound the plastic sleeves made when she crinkled them.  “Okay.  Impulsive relocations are a no.”  She looked back up at Bellamy, insecurity and dejection receding as she tried to search his face for even the smallest ounce of hope.  “But can we at least agree to keep this conversation open for future deliberation?”

Bellamy stilled her fidgeting hands.  “That, Princess, will _always_ be open for discussion.  Mark my words.”

 


	14. I Wanna Say I Lived Each Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you saw the last of me.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

**Summer 2008**

 

When you lose someone you love, your whole world inexplicably changes.  You see things differently and life becomes a lesson that you can either ignore or take in stride.  For Clarke, that lesson was in _resilience_.  There was no instruction manual for her to follow, and with her father now gone, she was forced to teach herself.  Missing him was a feeling that obviously never went away, but it eventually became easier for Clarke to stop from breaking down; to pick herself back up again and face the challenges ahead.

It wasn’t easy, of course.  Abigail’s refusal to play the role of loving parent left Clarke with so many unanswered questions.  At the time it seemed unfathomable, that a well-respected woman like Dr. Abigail Griffin would essentially abandon her daughter, closing off communication on almost all important matters and spending the majority of her time at the hospital. 

That was when Clarke’s burgeoning resentment began—when she simply needed her mom…and she wasn’t there.  The invisible barrier Abigail created between them eventually morphed into a 10-foot brick wall.  From then on, any defining moments in Clarke’s life (insecurities, exciting opportunities, first kisses that led to first sexual encounters) were shared only with her new best friend, Octavia. 

Last Christmas had certainly made her resentment toward her mother grow to epic proportions; however, Clarke was, at the very least, provided some much needed clarity as to _why_ Abigail behaved the way she did all those years ago.  _Her mother was ashamed_ , and rightly so.  Such patricidal betrayal could not easily be forgiven, but the reality of their situation was that this wasn’t some fairytale or Disney movie where good conquers evil.  Our actions in life are never as black and white as they are on the page or on the screen.  Abigail wasn’t a villain; she was human—a human consumed by her own guilt, remorse and regret for the mistakes she made in her past.

Clarke had to believe that much was true, that her mother was sorry and wished she could take back that moment and all the pain she left in her wake.  That didn’t mean, of course, that Clarke was ready to welcome her back with open arms.  No, it would take a lot more than recognizing a small shred of humanity in her mother to make amends.

And extravagant gifts could hardly do the trick either.

 “What do you mean ‘you’re not going to accept it’?” Octavia said, voice thunderous through the receiver.  “Clarke Griffin, don’t you even think about having your mother refund those tickets.  We are going on this trip if I have to drag you to the airport myself!”

Inhaling deeply, Clarke glanced at the papers in her hand.  She had every intention of tossing the envelope (clearly written in her mother’s hand) into the trash the moment she unlocked her mailbox and saw it, but remembering the contents of the box Abigail had sent a few months ago had Clarke second-guessing herself.  Morbid curiosity eventually won out, which then prompted a phone call to Octavia to share the unexpected news.  “Don’t get me wrong, O, it all sounds like a dream come true, but I’m just not sure if right now’s the best time for a trip.  You’ve got a job and I was thinking of lending a hand at Anya’s shop since I’ll be staying in Fredericksburg for a solid two months.  I figured it’s time to start saving up if I’m ever gonna give this whole ‘independent woman’ thing a go.” 

“As admirable as that sounds,” Octavia rebuked, “working part-time at a resale shop over the summer is not going to have you rolling in cheddar.  Plus, this waitressing gig of mine is a means to an end, nothing more.  If boss-man doesn’t let me take off two weeks of vacation-time then I’ll just quit and find another job when we return.” 

“How nice it must be to be you,” Clarke countered, with a surprising amount of venom behind her words.  That wasn’t her intention, of course, but playing the devil’s advocate kind of came with the territory these last few months.  “If only we could all throw caution to the wind and make rash decisions about our impending futures.”

Octavia was eerily quiet after that, allowing Clarke some time to reflect on why it suddenly came so naturally for her to attack the ones she loved.  She didn’t want to drive away the few people left in her life, not really.  But a part of her (no matter how small it was) subconsciously wondered if it really would be easier if she no longer had anyone to love.  Perhaps then, it wouldn’t hurt as much when they were gone. 

“Are you done?” Octavia finally asked, cutting through the silence.  “Because I’d prefer that you get this misguided anger of yours out of your system _before_ I’ve made my peace.”

Clarke shoved the papers back in the envelope and set them out of view.  Leaning back against the couch, she attempted to quell her nagging thoughts by closing her eyes and taking deep, steady breaths.  “I’m done.”

“Listen…” Octavia spoke resolutely and Clarke felt the beginning of a lecture coming on.  “You’ve been my best friend for a lifetime, and I say that truthfully because we both know I was in a very dark place after my mom died.  At the risk of getting too sentimental, my life really didn’t begin again until I met you, Clarke, which is why I feel inclined to fulfill my best friend duties and inform you when you’re being a selfish, insufferable brat.”

And yet, these were somehow _not_ the words of wisdom Clarke was expecting.  “Excuse me?”  Then again, the eccentric brunette was always unpredictable like that.

Octavia continued.  “I’m not saying things don’t suck.  I understand the toll death has on a person, and you’ve had to endure way more than any of us…but this isn’t you, Clarke.  You’re made of stronger stuff than this.  You’ve had four months to mourn and remember a guy that cared about you and always wanted what was best for you.  I think it’s time you honor him the right way by living your best life.  No more sulking in the shadows and grieving for what might have been.  Carpe diem, right?  Seize the day!  Seize this amazing opportunity you’ve just been handed.”

Clarke sunk further into her couch cocoon.  “Even if that opportunity was bought and paid for by the woman who destroyed my relationship with Wells?”

“Okay, so this is obviously a guilt present, but accepting it doesn’t mean you have to forgive her.  And if I remember correctly, Wells kept that secret because he didn’t want you to hate your mom.  As terrible as it sounds, their lie by omission was meant to protect you.”

“I don’t know,” Clarke breathed out slowly, a chorus of questions swirling in her head.  Was Octavia right?  Should she take a page out of the Dead Poets Society handbook and just go on this trip?  And did Wells and her mother really think they were protecting Clarke by keeping their secret from her?  More importantly, was she worth protecting?

“Do me a favor then,” Octavia finally said once she realized Clarke was still far from being convinced. “Don’t rush into a decision about this, okay?  For now, focus on getting through your finals; and when you get back to Virginia next week—if you _still_ think that going on this trip is a bad idea—then I’ll support you on it and throw the tickets back in Abigail’s face myself.  As much as I know deep down that getting away for a few weeks would be a total fucking blast, I’ll suck it up here in Lametown, USA if that’s what would truly make you happy.  So, will you think about it?”

Clarke reached for the envelope and began to scrutinize the loopy scrawl her mother used to write her name and address.  “Fine, I’ll think about it.  Although, you should really be thankful that I’m doing you any favors considering you think I’m a…what was it again?  Selfish brat?”

“Don’t forget ‘insufferable’.”

Clarke laughed.  Laughing was so rare these days that it almost sounded foreign to her ears, but it also felt kind of nice to abandon her cares, if only for a moment.  “I’ll start a pros and cons list immediately and report back to you on my decision as soon as I get to town.  Okay?”

“Do what you gotta do, love,” Octavia replied.  “In the meantime, I gotta get back to work.  Boss-man’s glaring at me from the back door which makes me think I’ve taken longer than fifteen minutes for my break.  So excited to see you soon!  Later, Griffin.”

After ending the call, Clarke did as promised, giving their predicament more thought—further postponing the studying she needed to do for her Anatomy final.  Octavia was right about one thing: Clarke hadn’t been herself for a while now.  Though she finally came to terms with Wells’ sudden death a few months ago, it was impossible to think she could ever fully come back from such a loss.  Bellamy’s presence in April had certainly helped, at least.  It reminded her how much she depended on his companionship, as well as his sister’s.  The Blakes had never given up on her.  As she thought about it now, she began to wonder why they even bothered anymore.  At times, Clarke was an absolute train wreck, but no matter what, Bellamy and Octavia remained at her side, sifting through the wreckage to help piece her back together again.

And what had she ever done for them in return?  They deserved to know that this friendship was (and would forever be) a two-way street; and as the wheels spun in Clarke’s head, a light bulb turned on and she began to formulate precisely how to prove it to them.

 

 

A week later, Clarke returned to the Blake residence (where she would continue to stay for the duration of her summer break) after running an important errand, choosing that very moment to share her exciting news.

“What the heck, dude?” Octavia bellowed as Clarke turned off the TV to garner their full attention.  “That was the best part of the movie!”

“O, you have Shrek on DVD. You can literally watch the ‘Welcome to Duloc’ song whenever you want.”  Clarke left no room for further discord as she jumped into her announcement.  “I have something very important that I wish to propose to you guys…yes, Lincoln, that includes you.  I have a lot to say but I’m going to try to keep this short and sweet, so please hold all questions, comments, and concerns for once I’m finished.”

Bellamy folded his arms, lip curling upward.  “I didn’t know the press secretary would be addressing us so informally.  Shouldn’t we be in the briefing room if you plan on making such a big statement about POTUS?”

Clarke rolled her eyes before training them on Bellamy.  “When I said hold all comments, believe it or not, that included sarcastic ones.”

He nodded before gesturing with his hand for her to carry on.

“Okay,” she continued.  “As you may be aware—since O has a hard time keeping a lid on anything—I have now officially completed my undergraduate program at BU and my persistent mother has decided that an appropriate gift for the occasion is a trip to Europe.”

Lincoln shook his head.  “So _that’s_ how the other half lives.  Do you know what my mom got me after graduation?  A briefcase…that I don’t even use.”

“Anyway,” Clarke said, a little peeved about being interrupted yet again, “The trip was supposed to be for me and Octavia, however, I have expertly devised my own genius plan by downgrading the first class flights to economy...”

Octavia did nothing to hide her dismay.

“So we can all go,” Clarke concluded merrily.

There was a long beat of stunned reticence, but as Bellamy began to process Clarke’s proposal, his eyebrows furrowed in such a way that they were now in danger of morphing into one.  “Wait…what?”

Clarke reached into her back pocket and pulled out several folded sheets of paper, waving them wildly in front of their faces.  “I traded in the two first class seats for four economy ones.  Now, it’s a 12-day trip from July 14th to July 25th.  This next part involved my actually having to speak to Abigail, so…you’re welcome.  Anyway, I told her that I didn’t want to stay in the luxury hotels she made reservations for and, eager to please, she cancelled them and gave me a $2,000 limit credit card to use instead.  Seriously, guys!  How amazing is this?  An all-expenses paid vacation in freaking Europe!  I’m talking Paris, Rome—the whole nine yards!”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Bellamy interjected, gesturing wildly in hopes of distracting Clarke long enough to get a chance to speak.  “Let’s pump the breaks a moment, El Tigre.  As grateful as I am to be included in this little adventure of yours, don’t you think it would’ve been best to talk to us _before_ trading in those plane tickets?  I mean, Lincoln and I both have full-time jobs and would be hard-pressed to get that length of time off for a vacation.”

Lincoln, however, chose to answer for himself.  “Actually, I am due for some vacation time and seeing as the manager is my cousin’s father-in-law…well, you could say we’ve got a pretty good work relationship.  I’m sure it’s feasible.”

“And,” Octavia chimed in, her arm lazily draped over Lincoln’s shoulder, “I can sweeten the deal by telling his boss it’s to spend some quality time with me.  He likes _me_ even more than Lincoln.”  She flashed her best interpretation of a coquettish smile.

Receiving the adorable couple’s unofficial nod of approval, Clarke turned back to Bellamy.  He still looked concerned and was more than likely taking a mental note of all the reasons not to go on this trip.  “Bell,” she ventured boldly, keeping her tone gentle yet relying on how much he valued candor, “I know 12 days off is a hefty request, but, quite frankly, I figured buying the tickets first might put the pressure on you and make you more likely to even ask for the time off.”

Bellamy let out a haughty breath as he leaned back in his recliner.  “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t act like I don’t know your angle, Bellamy Blake.  There’s a multitude of places you’ve dreamed of visiting—like the Acropolis, the Pantheon, and the ruins of Pompeii—but it’s like you’ve reached this point where either the cons always outweigh the pros or you think you don’t deserve to make those dreams a reality.  Excuses will always exist, Bell.  Opportunity won’t.”  She had Octavia to thank for that reminder.

As Bellamy processed her words, an intense stare-down had unintentionally initiated.  In Clarke’s eyes was a fierce determination, conveying wordlessly that his excuses wouldn’t work on her.  Beneath that ferocity though—which Bellamy easily saw through—was her own vulnerability pleading with him to just say yes, to be at her side on this new venture in her life.  Whereas her thoughts were translucent, his were opaque.  Clarke struggled in vain to get a read on what was really holding Bellamy back as he kept his eyes trained on her.

Octavia, however, began to realize that this silent showdown was going nowhere and decided to take matters into her own hands.  “Alright, bro,” she said, tossing a throw pillow at Bellamy and shaking him out of his trance, “so what’s it gonna be?  Linc and I are in.  That only leaves you.”

Clarke knew Bellamy wasn’t keen on being put on the spot, making his decision all the more challenging.  “Planning a trip halfway across the world isn’t easy, guys.  Just keep that in mind.  We still have to get passports—”

“Oh, I’ve already got mine,” Lincoln interjected.

“Me too,” Clarke added.  “And I’ve already looked into it.  I’ve made appointments for you two at the passport agency for Tuesday morning.  It normally takes six weeks to process but that’s cutting it close so I’ll just pay the fee to have it expedited.”

Bellamy, however, was armed with more ammunition.  “And considering Europe’s a continent, we’re going to have to carefully narrow down where we want to go in just 12 days.”

But Clarke was quick to deflect it.  “I’ve thought of that, too.”  She grabbed her purse and pulled out a manila file folder, handing each of them a detailed list.  “Here is a rough outline of our itinerary.  I factored in the most direct routes between England, France, Italy and Greece.  Much of what I mapped out is, of course, up for negotiation, but I tried to include something for everyone, finding a happy balance between entertainment and historical significance.”  She winked at Bellamy. 

“This sounds exhausting,” he sighed out, eyebrows raised in concern as he perused the itinerary.  “But I can’t deny that Clarke clearly knows the way to my heart by including half of the places on my bucket list.”  She hoped they were all too focused on the maps she handed them to notice the blush crawling up her neck.  “Are you sure a $2,000 limit is enough for four people to travel across Europe?”

"Let’s not forget that I have a stable job and can pay my own way for this trip,” Lincoln felt inclined to add.

Clarke shrugged.  “And I wouldn’t call it a limit.  More like an allowance.  I mean, we don’t need to go all out with our expenses.  That’s why I cancelled those ritzy hotels.  Besides, I was thinking we could put our numbers guru to good use to help us budget the trip.”  She cast a sideways glance at Octavia.

In turn, the young woman saluted Clarke from her spot on the couch.  “Aye aye, Captain.  I love a good challenge.”

“All _you_ need to do,” Clarke stated, leaving no room for Bellamy to edge in another excuse, “is request the time off of work.”  When that still didn’t seem to be enough of an incentive for him, Clarke used a different approach.  “Please, Bell.  I don’t ask you for much, but this is one thing that I’m really counting on you for.  Come to Europe with us.”

It would be a long time before Clarke truly understood why Bellamy eventually caved, but all that mattered was that, in the end, he did.  “I guess it’s time to brush up on my French.  I’m not sure studying it for three years in high school has equipped me for this kind of experience though.”

The rest of their Sunday afternoon was spent researching inexpensive lodgings and restaurants with authentic French, Italian, and Greek cuisine, as the Blakes poked fun at Clarke’s insistence on consulting her excruciatingly detailed itinerary.  They could laugh all they wanted, but Clarke knew that it was her carefully organized agenda that allowed them to make the most of their 12-day trip. 

 

 

Their first stop was London, which met pretty much all of Clarke’s expectations.  Though the sun was hard-pressed to appear, the weather was still decent enough to ride the London Eye and marvel at all the monuments below—the Parliament building, Jubilee Bridge, and the Shard to name a few.  It was only the first day of their trip and already Clarke felt confident that she made the right decision.  She was meant to be here—in this place and, especially, with these people.  It was the first thing that felt truly right in…well, since Wells.  After months of being caged in by her own self-loathing and regret, Clarke finally got a glimpse of what she had been tirelessly searching for: _hope_.

They toured Churchill’s WWII underground offices (which was a bit on the steep side moneywise, but totally worth the look of awe on Bellamy’s face) and took pictures of Westminster Abbey before retiring to their motel for the night.  It was a cramped little room, but to avoid any awkward implications it was decided that Octavia and Clarke would take one bed and Bellamy and Lincoln would take the other.  Unfortunately, Bellamy wasn’t a big fan of this arrangement—being that he still wasn’t a big fan of Lincoln—so he grabbed a pillow and blanket and picked a corner on the floor.

The next day, they took a train to Paris and as Clarke checked them into their room, she made sure to order a cot for Bellamy.

Paris was _magical_. 

In true tourist fashion, they snapped photos in front of the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and the Arc de Triomphe, but skipped the Louvre because the line was atrocious and even Clarke—who could probably name most of the paintings housed there—didn’t see the merit in waiting to get inside.  Even if the others did have the patience to wait, chances were good that the interior was no less crowded, and who honestly wants to stand in a confined room peering over rows of heads to get a quick peak at Delacroix’s “Women of Algiers”?

They found an affordable outdoor bistro for dinner, languidly savoring their beef bourguignon, coq au vin, and cassoulet.  Octavia was, surprisingly, too full to eat her duck confit due to the copious amounts of appetizer bread that she gorged on earlier, but she, naturally, had planned to wrap it up and bring it back to the room for what she called her “midnight munchies”.  They sat in companionable silence, sipping wine (a delicious 1988 Chateau Latour to be precise) as soft music played in the distance.  The air was full of romance, providing an ambiance that could easily mistake their evening out for a double date, but Clarke quickly squashed those thoughts the moment they entered her head.

No one was quite sure when it all changed, exactly, but by their second day in Paris both men had become cognizant of how much they actually had in common—like a fascination with military history and an utter loathing for the Pittsburg Penguins.  Naturally, Bellamy felt inclined to casually (not so casually) mention how close they were to the Musee de l’Armee—which housed military weapons and uniforms that spanned the period from antiquity through the 20th century.  Lincoln was sold at the words “Napoleon’s gilded tomb”, and an hour later they set off.

The ladies chose to sit this one out.  Staring at 18th century canons wasn’t really their idea of fun and, honestly, they hit their quota of military history tours back in London.  Instead, they grabbed some coffee and croissants at a café around the corner from their hotel, and found a nice spot by a fountain to sit and people watch.

Octavia shook her head in amazement.  “I still can’t believe we’re fucking here!  Don’t hate me for saying this, but your mom’s generosity kinda lessens her evil factor.”

Clarke cocked a brow.  “Indeed.  Fortunately for her, she’s got a massive bank account full of generosity.  Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be here—and to spend the time with you, no less—but funding a trip to Europe isn’t going to magically mend our relationship.” 

In compliance with Clarke’s implicit request to drop all talk of her mother, Octavia took a sip of her café au lait before lending her voice to another subject.  “So, kinda random, but I feel like we haven’t had a decent girl talk in a while, what with all the soap opera theatrics circling our small town.  I mean, you’re surrounded by co-eds—and sexy, aspiring doctors to boot—on a daily basis.  _Please_ tell me you have your eye on someone by now.”

“O, you know very well that having a love life is the least of my concerns,” Clarke responded, eyes trained on the cobblestone ground beneath her feet.  She has said some version of that response to Octavia at least a dozen times since her break up with Lexa.  And it was true…mostly.  “I’m starting my medical courses in the fall which means Dr. Wainwright will be making her rounds to observe potential candidates for the MetroWest apprenticeship so I kind of have to put all my eggs in one basket, so to speak.”

“Just because you’re not looking for it, doesn’t mean it won’t find you.”  Octavia nudged Clarke’s shoulder and raised her eyebrows suggestively.  “And—who knows—maybe what you’re ‘not looking for’ has actually been right under your nose all along.”

Clarke released an irritated sigh. She then glanced around to ensure the other two members of their party had not returned before responding to Octavia’s speculation—if only to put an end to it.  “For the 100th time, Bellamy and I are just friends.”

“I never said anything about Bellamy,” Octavia replied, feigning innocence.  “You drew that conclusion yourself, which could only mean that he comes to mind when the topic of _love_ is brought up.  But you can wipe that glare off your face, Griffin, because I still remember that promise I made about not meddling.  As much as I think you’re both being complete idiots—suppressing these obviously mutual feelings you have for each other as you walk the streets of _literally_ the most romantic city in the world—I intend to keep my promise.”

The sun crept out from behind the clouds, flecks of dazzling light reflecting off of the fountain and dancing their way across the cobblestone floor.  Clarke removed the sunglasses from atop her head to shield her eyes from the sun’s bright rays.

“Did you know that the Ancient Greeks originally came up with four different types of love?” Clarke asked her dear, yet often overbearing, friend.  The question was rhetorical, of course, because any talk of Ancient Greece—whether from Bellamy or one of her history teachers—usually went in one ear and out the other.  “C.S. Lewis even wrote a philosophical study on these loves, but what people often forget is that language is abundant and has such a semantic range.  There are four categorical loves but there are actually over 30 words in the Greek language for love, though many have been used interchangeably.”

“Please tell me there’s a point to this history lesson,” Octavia beckoned in the middle of chewing her croissant

Knowing that Octavia was more of a visual than auditory learner, Clarke did a quick survey of their surroundings to find a suitable example.  “Alright, see the couple coming out of that jewelry store there?” she asked, pointing at an elderly man and woman walking out into the sunlight and heading toward their next destination.  Octavia nodded.  “At a glance, what assumptions would you make about them?”

“I don’t know,” Octavia said with a shrug before begrudgingly pandering to her friend’s request, “that they are, in fact, a couple and probably have been married for a long time.”

Clarke nodded.  “Which is a logical conclusion given their proximity and the fond smiles on their faces.”  She set down her latte to rest her hands on the ledge of the fountain.  “Could their relationship have any other interpretation?”

The scoff that Octavia released before immediately responding made a falsehood out of the phrase ‘there are no stupid questions’.  “Of course.  It’s just an assumption.  I don’t actually know anything about them.”

“Exactly!” Clarke shrieked, startling Octavia into almost dropping what was left of her croissant.  “They could be old friends, or relatives, or two people rekindling an old flame that had long since been extinguished.  What we see on the surface has so many different interpretations underneath and much the same can be said about love.  Love can’t be expressed in terms of black and white, this or that.  Love is a prism of colors that allows you to feel so many different things for different people.”

Octavia scrunched up her nose, opening and closing her mouth like a fish as she attempted to comprehend Clarke’s love analysis.  “I’m confused.  Are you trying to tell me that you _are_ in love with my brother, or that you _aren’t_?”

And at that Clarke was ready to abandon this line of questioning altogether.  She loved Octavia to death but, honestly, hadn’t her feelings on this matter been exhausted enough?  Granted, Octavia’s reason for not letting it go could very well be because Clarke technically never gave her friend a straight answer.  It was too painful to admit flat out that she was whole-heartedly and unconditionally in love with Bellamy Blake.  Over the years, Clarke had developed this compulsion to bury these feelings on account of the number of factors that divided them—the greatest factor of all being that he didn’t (and couldn’t) reciprocate those feelings.

 _If he loved me, he would’ve moved to Boston when I said I needed him_ , she thought, a dull ache rising in her chest.

Instead of giving her friend another runaround answer, however, Clarke simply redirected.  “Hey, I’m sorry we never worked out any alone time for you and Lincoln while we’re here.  I figured Bellamy wouldn’t be too keen on it.  It is a shame, though, for you guys to have to share your only time in Paris with us.  Maybe when the boys get back I can convince Bell to accompany me to the Sainte Chapelle to take pictures, then you and Lincoln can at least have a romantic lunch for two or something before we head to the Alps.”

Octavia brought her coffee cup to her lips as she dispassionately mumbled out a reply.  “Don’t worry about it.  It’s fine.”

“How long have you two been together now?  Like five or six months?  Seriously, kudos to you, O.  That’s definitely longer than either of our previous relationships…combined.”

“It’s not that big of a deal or anything,” Octavia said, hands fidgeting with the plastic lid of her cup.  “I mean, Lincoln has his flaws just like everyone.  He cracks his knuckles and it’s like obnoxiously loud.  He eats the crust of his pizza first which I still can’t wrap my head around and I have reason to believe he registered as a republican when he turned 18.”

Clarke knitted her eyebrows together, quick to realize that her friend was agitated…and that it had something to do with her seemingly perfect boyfriend.  “O, I’ve heard you declare on numerous occasions how you think voting is pointless, hence why you’ve never registered yourself.  What’s really going on here?  Is everything okay between you two?”

“I don’t know.  There’s just a lot to think about right now.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she answered softly, eyes trained downward as she struggled to keep her voice impassive, “like the fact that Lincoln asked me to move in with him.”

Clarke could hardly contain her surprise.  “What?  When did this happen?”

An air of insecurity swirled about the brunette which, according to Clarke, seemed quite out of place.  “Last night.  And don’t get all excited, cuz I didn’t give him an answer yet.  It turns out we did get some quality alone time together in Paris though.  The moment you and Bell left the table to argue over who was paying for dinner, Linc seized his small window of opportunity.  It really was the perfect setting, too.  The outdoor lights were twinkling.  A busking violin player approached our table and started playing that song from that Audrey Hepburn movie you like.”

“’Moon River’?”

Octavia shrugged.  “Sure, whatever.  I half thought he was going to propose…but that’s stupid and probably would’ve given me heart palpitations anyway.”   

Clarke placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder, breaking the vacant trance Octavia was losing herself in.  “So, what’s the problem, O?  Do you not want to move in with Lincoln?  And don’t you dare give me that ‘I don’t know’ nonsense again.  What’s really holding you back?”

She didn’t answer right away, but after the weight of Clarke’s concerned gaze became too great, Octavia broke down.  “I’m scared.”

All at once Clarke understood.  “That you might actually fall in love with him?”

Octavia softly shook her head, eyes prickling with unshed tears.  “Scared that I already have.”

Clarke smiled warmly before scooting over to wrap her arms around her friend.  “It’s perfectly normal to be afraid of that.  If it’s not at least a little scary at first, then it’s not worth it.  Lincoln’s terrific and he obviously adores the crap out of you.”

With a light-hearted laugh, Octavia scrunched up her nose in thought.  “He does, doesn’t he?”

“So, does that mean you’re going to do it?” Clarke asked, leaning out of the embrace to gage Octavia’s reaction.  “Move in with him, I mean.”

After it felt like an eternity had passed without an answer, Clarke followed Octavia’s distant gaze, her eyes landing on that elderly couple from before.  They were now sitting on a bench, her head leaning against his shoulder as she twirled a single red rose between her fingers.

“Yeah,” Octavia finally responded.  “I think I am.”

But Clarke hadn’t heard a word she said.  Captivated by the affectionate couple on the other side of the street, Clarke began to realize how right Octavia was.  Perhaps she wasn’t actively seeking love, but deep down she wanted it—wanted to feel the way those strangers felt as they linked arms and gazed into each other’s eyes as if no one else existed in this world. 

There are four categorical types of love and all Clarke could think about was _eros_.  Intimate love.  She read once that all lovers and philosophers were inspired to seek truth through the means or _eros_.  Questioning the validity of this notion, Clarke couldn't help but wonder what truth existed between her and Bellamy.


	15. I Followed the Voice You Gave to Me

**Summer 2008 continued...**

 

They took a cable car up to their hotel in Switzerland later that night.  The eight-hour transit from Paris to Weissbad left Bellamy restless (the train stopped so frequently that each hour felt like an eternity), but the rocking movements of the escalating cable car and the pitch black sky above had him desperately fighting sleep.  Taking the Deutsche Bahn was cheaper than flying, he understood that much, and he could admit to being grateful that he didn’t have to drive that leg of the trip like he did on all of those ventures to Boston.  What caused him the most concern, however, was the fact that they were only a third of the way into their excursion and hell if he wasn’t already exhausted.

Which is partially why Bellamy took on the role of devil’s advocate as Clarke began boasting about their ‘highly anticipated’ stay at the Berggasthaus Aescher—and upon arrival, his skepticism was only further validated.  For starters, Bellamy preferred his lodgings on the ground, not tucked somewhere high in the Swiss Alps, completely void of any accessible escape routes.  Sure, it was the perfect spot for someone to go all Jack Torrance on any unwitting guests, but though Bellamy had a certain affinity for thrillers like _The Shining_ , he honestly didn’t want to be a part of its reenactment. 

The quaint inn also suffered the misfortune of being somewhat of a tourist hotspot, which he felt the full weight of as they waited in line for their room key for nearly 40 minutes despite the fact that it was well after 10 o’clock at night.    

Bottom line: Bellamy was not impressed.

…That is, until they woke the next morning and Octavia drew back the curtains to welcome the day.

Now, it is important to note that the Swiss Alps have been commonly associated with thoughts of a winter wonderland and Bellamy had easily fallen prey to this naivety.  He envisioned snow-covered mountains with tourists hitting the slopes during the day and drinking hot cocoa by the fire at night.  He had somehow forgotten that it was the dead of summer and other countries had seasons too.  Truth be told, Bellamy had no inclination of what the Alps would look like in the summer, but as his eyes adjusted to the newfound light pouring into their tiny room, one thought had immediately entered his mind: _Utopia_.

Once a disconcerting thought, the fact that the mountains surrounding them seemed utterly boundless was now rather liberating.  High cliffs of worn, jagged rock swooped down into deep valleys of every shade of green found in nature.  It appeared as if everything was in Technicolor, with the brilliantly blue sky above and the landscape below basking in the glow of the sun through wisps of clouds; clouds that hung low over the mountaintops and danced like sheer curtains in the breeze.

In moments of clarity, like this one, Bellamy often found himself thinking of his mother.  A predominant influence on his youth, she was always teaching him something; and though he may not have grasped the significance of her life lessons then, he still absorbed every morsel of knowledge she dished out like a sponge.  He remembered those night when she would read to him, stories about ancient Greeks instead of brave knights slaying dragons, poems by Emerson instead of Dr. Seuss.  One line of poetry in particular stayed with him, though he couldn’t fathom why or even who wrote it. 

 _You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain; I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care._  

Despite the landscape’s beauty, Bellamy had no real desire to become a mountain man.  That wasn’t why he conjured up the memory of his mother reading this poem.  As he quietly observed the mountainous terrain through their twin double-hung windows, Bellamy’s thoughts instead clung to the poet’s notion of being ‘free of care’.  He hardly knew what that meant, burdened with a heart that simply cared too much.  For the first time in a long time though, he was ready to find out—ready to be selfish and throw caution to the wind, consequences be damned.  The first step had already been taken.  He just hoped he had the guts to stay the course.

Clarke was the first to speak between the four of them.  “What are men to rocks and mountains?” she sighed out, not really seeking a reply.  She was quoting something and though Bellamy knew he had heard it said before, the origin was unknown to him. 

“This is amazing,” Lincoln muttered.  “It’s like Dorothy when she first opened the door to Oz?”  He looked around sheepishly for support and, when none was found, tried to cover his tracks.  “Not to say, of course, that I’m comparing myself to Dorothy.  Obviously, I’m not a little girl from Kansas.  I just mean that, well, actually I’m more like the audience the first time they saw that scene, you know, cuz it was so unexpected and there were all these bright colors and—”

Without taking her eyes off the window, Octavia reached for Lincoln’s hand and softly shushed him.  “Quit while you’re ahead, big guy.  It’s best not to admit to everyone how much of a softy you are.”  A moment later, she pulled him to her side and rested her temple against his shoulder.  “It is beautiful though.”

“I told you guys this place would be awesome,” Clarke said, leaning her forehead against the window to grasp the full extent of their elevated vantage point.  “Last night it was too dark to see anything, let alone how stunning the Swiss Alps look on a sunny, summer day.”

“We see it now though,” Bellamy chimed in, causing Clarke to tilt her head in his direction.  “Good call, Princess.”

The edge of her eyes crinkled as she smiled, pulling back from the window.  “Thanks.  And on that note, I think it’s time we get cleaned up, get dressed and head down to the restaurant for breakfast.  I read that their rosti is to die for.”

“And what exactly is rosti?” Lincoln asked skeptically.

Clarke shrugged.  “It looks like we’re about to find out though.”

 

They spent the rest of the day hiking the nearby trails and moderately steep mountain cliffs.  After checking out of their hotel early, they rode the cable car down to the nearby village—enjoying the view much more on their descent than they did going up the night before—and stopped at a family-owned delicatessen shop where they watched the owner’s son make Swiss cheese.  Never having tasted authentic Swiss cheese before, Bellamy felt fairly certain now that he wouldn’t be able to stomach the artificial stuff again.

The next stop on their itinerary was Venice. 

They popped in the Osteria al Portego for a quick dinner, but ended up staying longer than intended after being treated to some delicious cichetta, as well as several glasses of their house wine—which was truthfully much better than anything Bellamy had been served in the states.  When they left, Bellamy revealed one of the few tricks he still had up his sleeve, guiding them to a dock where a private gondola was waiting for Octavia and Lincoln to take a romantic tour of Venice.  He was quite proud of the sheer surprise on all of their faces, especially since it wasn’t easy to sneak away and make the necessary phone calls to see this plan through.  Octavia really needn’t look _that_ shocked though.  It wasn’t like Bellamy never did anything for his sister, although maybe this was the first time he did something in support of one of her relationships.

Her steel grey eyes began to shine brightly and as she wrapped her arms around his neck in gratitude, he knew that he was doing the right thing.  Bellamy accepted the hug gratefully, lifting Octavia’s petite frame so that her feet dangled in the air.

Before long, the couple departed on their romantic boat ride for two, leaving Bellamy alone with Clarke.  They wandered the narrow walkways and bridges that took them from one stone wall to the next.  Venice was even grander than he imagined, from the Victorian-style lamp posts to the curved archways of the Rialto Bridge.  The architectural integrity of the antiquated buildings was enough to marvel over, but getting to see it on a leisurely stroll with Clarke (the woman who was, arguably, the love of his life) was the icing on the cake.

He entertained the possibility of being bold a few times, of what would happen if he just told her how he felt and kissed her.  Paris certainly set the mood for that scenario—and if things had turned out the way he imagined, boy, would that be a story to tell the grandkids.

But therein lied the problem:  this was all in his imagination.  Truth be told, he had no idea how Clarke would react to such a proclamation or how that very proclamation might disrupt the very fabric of their current relationship…indefinitely.  Was he honestly willing to risk that?  It was a question he had been asking himself for years, though he wasn’t any closer to finding a definitive answer.

Clarke interrupted his thoughts as they turned a corner in the direction of St. Mark’s Square.  “From the looks of that heartwarming display back there, I’m assuming O told you that she’s moving in with Lincoln.”

“She didn’t have to,” Bellamy replied before elaborating.  “He told me—or rather, he sort of asked for my permission.  Back in London, when you and O were stalking that random person you thought was Eddie Izzard, Lincoln just decided to come clean to me about his intentions.  It was very Carlo Rizzi of him.”

Clarke rolled her eyes.  “Bell, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, but you are not ‘The Don’.  Please stop trying to match _The Godfather_ to your life story.”

Despite Clarke’s insistence on shooting him down, he waved her negativity off.  “Hey, I’m just telling it like I see it.  He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”  When that didn’t even get a chuckle out of Clarke, he went for a more genuine approach instead.  “Listen, he was gutsy, okay?  I respected that.  I don’t know, I guess I figured if this guy cares about my sister so much that he’s willing to bury the hatchet between us, then maybe it was time I made a little more of an effort.”

“And by ‘more of an effort’ you mean ‘less of an effort to sabotage their relationship’?” Clarke asked, cocking one of her eyebrows.  Bellamy didn’t feel it was necessary to dignify that questions with a response, so he left it alone, dragging a hand through his hair as a substitute for speaking.  “This actually makes a lot of sense now.  O and I were wondering why you guys were at odds one day and then suddenly ready to makes friendship bracelets for each other the next.  That’s really cool though.  It’s pretty obvious he’s in love with her and I don’t think I’ve ever seen O this happy before.”

Upon entering the promenade of the famous square, Bellamy steered Clarke in the direction of a building he was eager to check out, and grabbed her hand to do so.  For a millisecond he wondered if Clarke would read into the small gesture and, in turn, put up that metaphorical wall he had spent a good year taking down.  Contrary to his misgivings, she barely hesitated before linking her fingers between his and, well, after that there was no going back.

“Ooh!  This one’s interesting,” Clarke exclaimed as they peered in the windows of what could only be described as an architectural revolution.

“This is the Negozio Olivetti, designed by the architect Carlo Scarpa circa 1957, if I’m not mistaken.”

Clarke moved in closer and cupped her free hand around her eye to get a better glimpse of the interior.  “1957, huh?  Seems a bit bold to modernize a building in the heart of such a gothic square.”

Moments like these were rare, when Clarke (or anyone, for that matter) took a proactive interest in his weird hobby.  Who was he to squander it?  “That’s actually what makes it so famous.  Every structure around here dates back to the Byzantine Empire, including this building.  In the late 50s, however, Scarpa was commissioned by Adriano Olivetti to create a space that would draw attention to their products while keeping true to the integrity of the historical square.  I mean, look at his use of marble game and glass for these floor tiles, or how the gold siding creates this warmth that juxtaposes against the cold slabs of concrete that form those steps.  Every single detail of this place was carefully constructed.  It takes you back to a time of peace and tranquility amidst the chaos of our busy, self-involved lives.”

Bellamy had been so absorbed in his own analysis of Scarpa’s design that he didn’t realize Clarke had stopped looking through the window and was now staring straight at him.  It was a look he rarely got from her yet often saw in his dreams; as if she was looking past what was on the surface and trying to peer through the window of his soul.  It made him feel exposed, naked.  And then he began to panic, wondering what it was she found there.  Was she merely dissecting his knowledge of Italian architecture or could she somehow see the deep-rooted feelings he harbored for her once and for all?

He hadn’t said anything that would give his secret away (at least, he didn’t think so), but Clarke had an innate cleverness about her.  Perhaps she was clairvoyant and there was a whole family history he didn’t know about.  Or worse, Octavia could’ve finally decided to clue Clarke in to her suspicions, prompting her to analyze his every move for proof.

Or maybe his own paranoia would simply be the death of him.  It wasn’t as if she was doing or saying anything to make his thoughts wonder in the direction of his own insecurities.  As with most cases, he brought that on himself.  Clarke was just looking at him and, in retrospect, that was a good thing.  If she really knew that truth and had no cause to reciprocate those feelings, then why was she still holding his hand?

Hmmm.  Why was Clarke still holding his hand?  She could’ve let go a while ago, but she didn’t.  That had to mean something, right?

To break the silence—and, hopefully, put a ‘ceasefire’ on his internal misery—Bellamy voiced one of the thoughts he was comfortable sharing with her.  “I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to get so many history lessons on this vacation, huh?”

One side of Clarke’s mouth curved upward.  “Please.  Your well-informed commentary was pretty much the only thing I ‘expected’ during our two weeks abroad.  Why else do you think I didn’t schedule any guided tours for us?”

“Dually noted,” Bellamy said, gently squeezing the hand he held.  The action seemed to remind Clarke of the link between them, causing her to look down at their clasped hands—though she still made no indication of letting go.

“I know I probably don’t say it enough,” she started, “but I really do think this stuff is fascinating.  Jesus, Bell, you’re like this fountain of knowledge and you have so much to offer this world.  It’s crazy to think that you’re still stuck in a construction job that has only moved unilaterally for years.”

“I know,” he agreed, wondering if now was the time to tell her.

As if the subject of Bellamy’s worth was something Clarke was suddenly very passionate about, her voice went up an octave.  “I don’t think you do!  It’s a dead end job, Bell, and it doesn’t even showcase your amazing talents.  I know change is scary but I still think you should—”

“Clarke,” he interrupted, knowing full well what she was going to say next.  “I know.  I know I’ve been making excuses not to do more with my life pretty much since my mom died.  I know that what was initially an obligation has now become a safety net that I’ve been too afraid to jump without.  And I know all of this now because of…well, you.”

“Well,” she eventually stuttered out, cheeks flushed from either the warm night air or the high praise he gave her, “as long as you know.”

They both returned their gazes to the window.  His eyes shifted from the rows of vintage typewriters to the marble fountain gleaming with flecks of seafoam green and ivory.  The longer conversation had been stilted between them, the more he lost his nerve.  Could he really do this?  _Should_ he do this?  Clarke had previously voiced her opinion on this matter, but that was three months ago.  Things could be different now.  Bellamy knew better than anyone how changeable a person in their twenties can be, especially someone who had been through as much as Clarke had.

“You know, you never asked me how I managed to get all this time off from work.”  He couldn’t face her, instead glancing at her reflection in the window, drawing strength from the hand still entwined with his own.

“What do you mean?” she asked, almost passively.

“I didn’t have that many vacation days saved up because of all the impromptu trips I’ve made to Boston over the last few years.”

“Oh,” she said, expressing the misplaced guilt she undoubtedly felt.  “Does that mean you had to use unpaid vacation days?  Because if it’s money you’re worried about, I can probably help cover the loss.”

Bellamy released a puff of air as if to laugh.  “Seeing as you’re trying to rely on yourself financially, Princess, you really should stop handing out money to everyone else.”

In vain, Clarke tried to disguise her embarrassment, tugging on his arm and pulling his hand closer to her side.  “Don’t crack jokes.  I know your defense mechanisms better than most.  What are you not telling me?”

As he drew in a long breath, Bellamy could feel each of his ribs separate and expand inside of him before retracting back into their original state.  “I quit.”

She let go.  “You what?”

It had only been a handful of minutes since they entered the square, but in that brief span of time Bellamy had gotten used to that hand, lithe fingers slotted so perfectly between his own.  It became an extension of himself, a floating rib that lay dormant and safe until suddenly and violently being torn from his side, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.  A gentle breeze swept over his exposed, clammy palm and the unfamiliar sensation sent a chill up his back.

To mask the onslaught of his separation anxiety, Bellamy scratched the back of his neck.  “Uh…yeah.  I gave my two weeks’ notice shortly after we began planning the trip.  And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.  You’re, uh, actually the first one to know…apart from my project manager, of course.”  There he goes again with the lame jokes.  It was a bad habit he couldn’t rid himself of, and a counterproductive one at that.  She didn’t seem to think it was funny at all.  “I haven’t even told Octavia yet.”

Clarke was looking out into the square now, eyes darting around fervently as she processed what he told her.  “I’m assuming you have something else lined up then.”

“Yes and no.  I’m still on the job hunt, but I’m only looking for something part-time right now.”

“Part-time?” she echoed, sounding almost incredulous.  “This coming from the guy who tried to give me financial advice only a few minutes ago.  Do you really think part-time work is gonna cover rent, among other things?”

Bellamy flexed his hand before curling it into a tight ball.  “Well, it would be kinda difficult to hold a full-time job and go to school at the same time.”

“School?”  Her gaze returned to him.  “You’re going back to school?”

He nodded.  “So I can finally finish getting my degree.  I applied to several architecture colleges a while back just to see what kind of response I’d get.  The acceptance letters were a bit overwhelming actually, although I hardly considered saying yes to any of them until your little speech.  ‘Excuses always exist,’ you said.  ‘Opportunity won’t.’”

“I said that?”

Bellamy smiled.  “Yeah, you did.  It convinced me to go on this trip, and then it got me thinking about other things—most importantly, what the hell I was doing with my life.  We both knew I didn’t want to stay in construction forever, so I grabbed this opportunity, quit my job and chose not to renew my lease in the fall.  I gotta admit, as terrified as I am of all this change, I can’t ignore that twinge of excitement bubbling in my chest.  It’s the start of something new.”

“Bell,” she started, hesitating to find the appropriate words to say at this juncture, “it’s great that you’re so happy about this, and I love that I’ve somehow inspired this change in you, but isn’t this a bit…sudden?  I know Octavia moving in with her boyfriend seems like divine intervention, but, well, I’m a little surprised you made this decision before you even found out about that.  I mean, what if she chose not to move in with him?  What if they broke up?”

Bellamy only pretended to contemplate this alternative, arching his brow and giving the light scruff under his chin a good scratch.  Obviously his little sister was a major factor in this equation but he hoped this risky move was one she would approve of.  “Well, if that did happen, I supposed she’d come with me.”

Clarke rolled her eyes as she let out a frustrated guffaw.  “Wow,” she stated, her signature sarcasm rearing its head.  “That sounds like a solid plan.  No really, Bell, you should congratulate yourself on that one.  I’m totally sure O would have no problem relocating her entire life to wherever the hell it is you plan on going.”

“Yeah,” he said, drawing this thing out as he rocked back and forth on his heels, wearing an innocent façade.  “I mean, I know she always talked about wanting to live in Boston, so it seemed like something she’d be on board with.  But I guess none of that matters anyway, since she’s apparently gone and fallen in love.”

His words didn’t register with Clarke right away, but as soon as they did her features softened.  “Boston?”

“If you keep repeating me like that you’re liable to turn into a parrot.”  However, his joke (like the ones before) was completely lost on her.  He had a hunch it had more to do with her preoccupied thoughts than actual ignorance.  He indulged her silent need to know more.  “Yeah, it turns out Boston Architectural College (or as the cool kids say, The BAC) is one of the top private colleges for spatial design.  It also happens to be an 8-12 min drive from Boston University, so…”

He stopped himself there because he didn’t know how to appropriately finish that sentence.  _So he could see her whenever he wanted?  So distance can no longer be their primary excuse to not consider dating?_

Clarke initially looked confused, and then thoughtful, and then her eyes started to glaze over which triggered Bellamy’s guileless concern for her.  Without a single thought of the potential consequences, he lifted his hand to swipe at the stray tear that fell against her cheek.  She didn’t shy away.  She didn’t look away either.  They both just stood there staring at each other, and before long her lips were curving up into a smile.  “So, does this mean I get to see you in 8 minutes instead of 8 hours now?”  A nod was all his muddled brain could muster.  “I think I’m okay with that.  Plus, I can finally stop offering to help you cover gas expenses, because we both know I only did so as a common courtesy.”

His smile now complimented hers as the staring match continued.  Being reasonably intelligent people of sound mind, they remembered well that the hub of Venice’s nightlife was happening around them, but it was still so alluring to believe in that moment that they were the only two people in the world. 

“I thought it’d be a fun experiment,” he countered, “you know, to test how long it takes for you to get sick of me.”

“I’m afraid that limit’s already been tested.”  There was the cheeky Clarke he knew and loved.  “I mean, we’ve only been in Europe, what, five days now?  I just don’t know how I’m going to make it through the rest of this trip without getting a break from you.”  The growing blush on her face told him otherwise.

They were flirting.  This was flirting, right?  Bellamy couldn’t remember things _ever_ getting this far between them before, but he could see it now as she teased him and smiled seductively.  And when did their proximity change?  A moment ago she was an arm’s length away, but at this distance he could feel her breath on his neck.  How easily he could kiss her forehead or feel her cheek against his…so many things.  God, he wanted to do so many things.  But he just stood there.  Frozen.

They had the momentum, one of them just needed to put the car in drive.  For a moment it seemed as if Clarke was willing to make the first move.  Her head tilted sideways as the heels of her feet lifted her up to Bellamy’s height.  Time slowed to a crawl as her face drew near.  Any second now and his lips would be on hers.  Any second now and he could finally—

“There you are!”

Bellamy and Clarke flew apart like shrapnel.

Coming back down to earth, Bellamy blinked several times before training his eyes on his sister.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, looking between them curiously, “but Lincoln and I have been looking everywhere for you guys since you decided to go radio silent on us.” She waved her phone in the air to emphasize her point.

“Sorry,” Clarke offered, quickly brushing off their previous ‘moment’ to walk over to Octavia and link arms with her.  “I guess we just lost track of time.  Plus, you know the volume on my phone is never high enough for me to actually hear it.”

Octavia rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, I still don’t know why you won’t fix that.”  Lincoln appeared an instant later.  “I don’t know about you guys, but I am ready to hit the hay.  Drinking copious amounts of wine and touring the city by boat is exhausting.”

Clarke giggled and allowed herself to be led by Octavia, leaving Bellamy to trail them several feet away.

And the award for the most inconveniently-timed cockblock goes to…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple side notes:
> 
> In case you didn't already know, Clarke's quote in the beginning is from Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen. 
> 
> The line of poetry Bellamy references is from a loose translation of Li Bai's "Green Mountain".


	16. 'Cause In My Mind I Want You Here

**Fall 2008**

Octavia was never one for goodbyes, so it hardly shocked Clarke when she decided not to go to Boston to help with the move.  Why prolong the inevitable when you can just rip off the band-aid now and be done with it? 

Much to his dismay, Bellamy didn’t have the capacity in his truck for all his belongings and was forced to rent a U-Haul.  That was when Miller came to the rescue, offering to drive it up to Boston so Clarke (thank God!) didn’t have to.  Monty and Jasper were also eager to lend a hand in any way they could—that is until Jasper bailed at the last minute because of a science lab that required his “undivided attention.”  How convenient that this lab of his left Monty and Miller alone in a U-Haul together for 8 hours—16 hours, if you count the return trip. 

Clarke wondered if after a year of quietly pining for Nathan Miller, Monty would finally use this golden opportunity to tell him how he feels.  She quickly redacted that thought, however, when compared to her own personal predicament and decided that Monty was completely at liberty to say or not say whatever he wished.

It took the four of them the whole weekend to drive up to Boston and then unload everything into Bellamy’s new apartment—which happened to be a mere six blocks east and two blocks south of her own place, Clarke noted gleefully.  They took breaks, of course, even stopping at her favorite Irish pub, Sólás, on Saturday night for some shepherd’s pie and _several_ pints of Smithwicks.  It was a good night, and maybe it was the atmosphere, or the booze, or the colorful way Monty recounted his hijinks from college, but Clarke swore she had never seen Miller smile as much as he did that night.

Monty and Miller left for Fredericksburg Sunday afternoon as Clarke continued to help Bellamy arrange and rearrange his furniture until it was eventually time for her to settle back into her own apartment and prepare for the upcoming school semester.

It didn’t sink in at first, knowing the she person she thought of most would now only be a short cab ride away.  From its inception, distance had, unfortunately, reduced their friendship to late night phone calls and holiday sabbaticals.  They made the most of what they had, but she quickly took comfort in the fact that _now_ they had more.  _Now_ they could explore all of Boston together so Bellamy could finally stop sending her frowning emoticons every time Clarke sent him a picture of herself outside of places like the JFK Library or the Old State House.  _Now_ they could make fun of Lifetime movies on the same couch instead of on the phone, hundreds of miles apart.

But as the leaves on the maple trees turned honey yellow and burnt orange, the harsh reality of their hectic lives began to set in.  In addition to adjusting to his new course-load, Bellamy also had to get a job.  He was fortunate enough to find one working security at a local sports bar, which fit perfectly with his class schedule, allowing him to attend his classes during the day and work at the bar until the wee hours of the morning.

Quality ‘Clarke-time’, however, wasn’t factored into that schedule.

Not to say, of course, that she was mindlessly twiddling her thumbs at home.  Starting her first official year of medical school meant more research-based clinicals, pathology demos, and figuring out which family medicine internships to apply for in the spring.

Before either of them knew it, September rolled around, which finally prompted Clarke to schedule a mutually agreed upon dinner date that no excuse could get them out of, excepting death or serious bodily injury.  Bellamy picked the place, a Turkish grill that he had frequented since his residency a month ago and, well, far be it for Clarke to turn down shawarma.

“So, how’s my little college boy?” she asked in between bites of her chicken wrap.  “Made any friends yet or are you like the kid who stays after class to ask the professor even more obnoxiously nerdy questions?  My gut’s betting on the latter.”

He willfully ignored her blatant jabs.  “It’s actually pretty neat.  The Critical Reading & Research lecture is kind of dull because it’s really just a review of foundational elements that I already know, but I like the hands-on aspect of Community Practice.  We’re already starting a ‘spatial design’ group project so that should be interesting.”

“Which you’ll probably dominate considering your previous work experience.”

Bellamy shrugged, fiddling with the stuffed grape leaves on his plate.  “I don’t know if ‘dominate’ is the correct word choice, but they named me group leader, or whatever.”

He was embarrassed, which was endearing and, god, it made him cute as a button.  She smiled affectionately before throwing a piece of pita bread at him.  “Did you honestly expect anything different, Bell?  You’re like the equivalent of a med student, but, you know, for architects. Hell, you could probably have your own home improvement show on HGTV or TLC considering your extensive knowledge on stucco windows and Cornish sidings.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, choking back a laugh as he took a swig of his fancy, imported beer.  “Well, something tells me that show wouldn’t last considering there’s no such thing as stucco windows or Cornish sidings.  Cornice molding however…”

Now it was her turn to be embarrassed.  “Okay, so I don’t know the lingo.  That doesn’t mean I’m not listening when you talk about this stuff.  My head’s just too full of things like maculae utriculosaccularis and fibroepithelioma to absorb anything else.”

“Touché.” He clinked his beer bottle against her cup of iced tea as an informal truce.

“Just be thankful,” she continued, “that my eyes don’t glaze over like Octavia’s in obvious disinterest.”

Bellamy smiled fondly at the thought before relaxing against his chair.  He then stretched his arms above his head, causing Clarke’s composure to waver.  She liked watching him stretch like that, his lean and unnaturally long limbs accentuated by the involuntary movement.  She imagined those arms encircling her waist as she nuzzled against his chest.  They were no strangers to hugs, so it was easy to do, but it was almost worrisome how often she craved his touch, imagining the many other uses his long limbs afforded.

No matter how much she tried to ignore it, the sad truth was that emotionally she _needed_ Bellamy, and physically she _wanted_ him.

She wanted him bad.

But was it realistic to think she could have her cake and eat it too?  

“How is O, by the way?” he asked, forcing Clarke to snap back into the present.

“What do you mean?  Have you been so busy with your new city life that you haven’t made time to talk to your own sister?”

Bellamy winced.  “More like she’s still icing me out as punishment for not consulting her about the move.”

Clarke dipped her pinky in Bellamy’s baba ghanoush—which earned her a meaningful glare—before adding her two cents’ worth.  “Not to take sides here, but can you blame her?  Her entire life, you have never been more than 15 miles away.  You chose Mary Washington instead of U Penn because of your inherent need to protect her.  And then when misfortune struck, you immediately dropped out to assume your new role as her legal guardian.  O may have complained on occasion about your overprotective tendencies, but I know that deep down she depended on you always being there for her.  This is simply an adjustment that’s going to take some time for her to get used to.  We all respond to change differently.”

_Especially when that change didn’t turn out at all like you expected_ , though she kept that thought to herself.

“I guess,” he said, remaining suspect on whether his sister would ever forgive him.  “Seriously though, how is she?”

“Well, last I heard, her waitressing funds weren’t cutting it so she started dealing meth to the kids over on Jackson Square.  But when she found she was pregnant, Lincoln was pretty firm on having her put that business venture on hold—at least until the baby arrived.  I bet she made a killing there since those dumb richies are probably willing to pay the price of an ounce for a gram bag.”

Needless to say, Bellamy was less than impressed with her little joke.  “Cute.  You should consider taking that shtick out on the road.”

She smiled arrogantly before finally giving him a straight answer.  “Her relocation to Lincoln’s apartment went pretty smooth considering she already spent most of her time there.  He’s also pretty much given her free reign of the place, even allowing O to use the spare room for crafting (or whatever she wants to use it for), so now she’s spending all of her spare time discovering what hobbies she might be into apart from judging strangers and doing Sudoku puzzles.”

That got a chuckle out of him.  “Yep.  That sounds like her.”

“Her primary objective though is still trying to convince Lincoln to move to Greece with her.  You would think after all her griping that if she was going to move anywhere it would be here…but no.  We spend two days on the beaches of Zakinthos and that’s all she can talk about.”

“I’ll admit that the beaches there were very picturesque,” he said, folding his arms and looking contemplative, “but sunbathing and snorkeling isn’t something I’d want to do for the rest of my life.  I’d much rather—”

“Be at the Acropolis?” she ventured.  It gave her a little thrill to predict his thoughts so easily as he shook his head sheepishly.  “We should get that made on a t-shirt for you.  You know, putting aside your childlike reaction to seeing the ancient citadel up close and personal, I always knew it would be your favorite stop on the trip.”

Bellamy acquiesced.  “Fair enough.  It’s no secret what my general interests are, but the whole trip was so incredible, I don’t know if I could actually pick a favorite stop.  I mean, Athens was everything I wanted it to be but…I don’t know, Venice was pretty inspirational too.  More than anything, it surprised me.”

As a compulsory response, Clarke sat up a little straighter the moment ‘Venice’ crossed his lips.  She had spent so much effort pushing what happened (or almost happened) in Venice into the far recesses of her mind, that Bellamy’s acknowledgement of that memory set her into a tailspin.  It surprised him?  That was the understatement of the year. 

It was silently and mutually agreed upon that neither of them were going to bring up the…well, let’s be honest here: the night they almost kissed.  What bothered Clarke the most was that she honestly couldn’t fathom why she agreed to it.  If Octavia hadn’t shown up at that exact moment, there’s no question what would’ve happened.  Clarke had thought about kissing Bellamy a hundred times, but never considered giving into her compulsions until he told her that he was moving to Boston.  It was a sign, wasn’t it?  And she knew she wasn’t alone.  Though it was difficult for her to think past her own wildly pounding heart against her eardrums, she was still pre-med and could pick up on the physiological signs of lust on Bellamy.  Dilated pupils.  Erratic breathing.  The way his gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips…

Clarke swallowed nervously, shoving the memory down and focusing instead on the half-eaten pita in front of her.  There was no use dwelling on what might’ve happened because the fact of the matter was that it didn’t…nothing happened.  Octavia made her presence known, and any potential ‘moment’ between them was laid to rest.  Clarke could at least admit to giving into the panic a little faster than Bellamy, as she immediately linked arms with Octavia and pretended as of nothing of consequence was about to occur.  But what was she supposed to do?  Tell Octavia to give them some privacy for a moment so she could kiss her brother senseless?

No.  It was best to wait until they could be alone again.  As much as she wanted to kiss Bellamy and think about nothing else, thoughts of what that kiss would mean plagued her too much to ignore.  A lot would change between them if they decided to take that next step and it was important that they talk about it first.

She never got that chance though.  Bellamy made sure the group stayed together for the rest of the trip, and Clarke could take a hint easily enough.  Perhaps this was his own way of letting her down easy, pretending it never happened so the harsh truth never had to be said.  They worked well as friends, they both knew that.  Why ruin that or over the uncertainty of something more?

“I know what you mean,” Clarke finally responded, picking at her leftovers to calm the nervous tremors in her hands.  “I could definitely revisit Venice.”

“Remember the Olivetti?” he asked, prompting a girlish flutter in the pit of her stomach.

The air between them was palpable. 

“How could I forget?”

Clarke still wasn’t entirely sure of the direction this conversation was going in.  Either Bellamy was about launch into another speech about the structural integrity of Venice’s modern marvel or this was it— _this_ was the moment she had been waiting for after years of pondering what they actually meant to each other.

Bellamy scratched the light scruff under his chin, a sure sign of his discomfort, but what prompted his uneasiness was still uncertain.

“I’ve been, um, thinking,” he started, refusing to look her in the eye, “about Venice.  I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually and I was just curious if—”

“Hey, Bellamy,” a perky, raven-haired girl greeted, saddling up to their table.  “Fancy seeing you here.”  There was sarcasm there, which made sense considering how often he claimed to eat here.  She must’ve been one of the waitresses, evidenced by the black apron tied around her petite waist.

She was also, Clarke noted, uncommonly pretty.

Bellamy smiled at her—a real, genuine smile, like the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides and the dimples form in his cheeks.  That was when the nausea set in.  “Hey, I’ve been pretty good this week.  Managed to cook dinner for myself three times after finally getting a chance to rewire that dinky stove.  Plus, I brought company this time.”

When Bellamy gestured to Clarke, the young woman with (frustratingly) perfectly-arched eyebrows gave her a once over.  “That _is_ a new development.  Hi, I’m Gina.  You must be the girlfriend.”

Gina was clever and Clarke always knew to give credit where credit was due.  She did have to resist every urge to respond sarcastically though.  “We’re just friends actually.  I’m Clarke.  I’ve been charged with helping him adjust to the big, bad city life.”

“Friend?”  Her face lit up.  “Well, any friend of one of our loyal customers is a friend of mine.  Bell, did you want some sutlac to go?”  He nodded.  “Great!  I’ll put the order in for you right now.”

Clarke waited until the woman left before making a show of folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him sternly.

“What?” he asked, bewildered.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Bellamy shrugged before pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.  “Not that I can think of.  Should I be worried?”

She scoffed.  “You _should_ be worried if you honestly thought you could get away with this.”

“Clarke,” he said, accentuating his exasperation with an eye roll, “just spit it out already.”

Clarke shook her head indignantly.  “I’m just surprised—nay flabbergasted—that you kept coming to this Mediterranean grill for the last month instead of, oh I don’t know, informing your closest friend about your broken stove.  Had I known, I would’ve invited you over for dinner to help you save money.”

This wasn’t an outright lie since Clarke, as his friend, knew that Bellamy’s finances would be limited now and she wanted to help him in any way she could.  But it was also a deflection.  Her primary concern rested in the way Gina looked at Bellamy.  She hadn’t dealt with this kind of jealousy in a while.  Bellamy had either put a temporary hold on dating for the past two years or had kept his romantic affairs so underwraps that she remained blissfully ignorant of it. 

Not living in the same city had made her forget that other women found Bellamy attractive too.  This was something she would have to deal with now…and she detested it.

But, Clarke reminded herself, if Venice taught her anything, it was that the stability of their friendship was what mattered most.  Girls may come and go, but Clarke was now the closest thing he had to family out here in Boston and she knew he couldn’t lose that.  As his friend, she would support him in any decision he made—as gut-wrenching as those decisions may be.

“You can’t cook,” he retorted, and there was no denying that simple truth.

Clarke’s eyebrows shot skyward.  “I never said anything about cooking.  But I do have a working stove and if _you_ wanted to use it—breakfast, lunch, or dinner—my fully-furnished kitchen could’ve been at your disposal.”

Though it hardly made a difference now that his stove was fixed, he politely acknowledged her offer with a quirk of his lips and a slight nod.

She wasn’t done speaking her piece though.  “This isn’t how I expected things to be, you know?  I mean, we live in the same city now, but it doesn’t seem any different from before.  I just hate that this is the first I’ve seen you since you moved out here.”

Bellamy let out a long breath.  “It’s not for lack of trying, Clarke.  I’ve been busy.  We both have been.”

That wasn’t a good enough excuse for Clarke.  _Being busy was a part of life_ , she warmly remembered her dad telling her once.   _But if you truly want to live you have to make time for the people you care about._   “You think I’m busy now?  Wait until I get my doctorate.  Listen, I don’t mean for this to be some personal attack or anything.  All I’m trying to say is…come bug me.  Whenever you have a free moment, as late or early as you think it is, just come stop by.  I could use the company.  Plus, it would make me feel better knowing you visited me more often than a waitress at a Turkish restaurant.”

He laughed at that and the affectionate way he looked at her was a gentle reminder of his permanent existence in her life.

“She likes you.”

“Who?” Bellamy asked with a furrowed brow.  She waited for him to connect the dots himself.  “Are you talking about Gina?”

“No, Halle Berry,” she countered, since sarcasm was the easiest way for her to deal with the crushing weight of another woman interested in Bellamy…her Bellamy.  “Of course, Gina.  It’s so obvious.  Did you not see the way she visibly relaxed when I told her I wasn’t your girlfriend?  That’s textbook girl code for ‘Thank god, I still have a chance with him.’”

Bellamy ducked his head to hide the embarrassment (and potential irritation) he was starting to feel.  “Don’t read into this, Clarke.  It’s just good customer service, which must be working since I’ve been here eight times this month.”

“Or,” she added, “maybe you keep coming back for a different reason…and I’m not referring to the falafel.”  Clarke had no intention to play the Emma Woodhouse to Gina’s Harriet Smith, but as much as it would pain her to encourage Bellamy to date another woman, a part of her was curious to know if he was remotely interested in the perceptibly gorgeous waitress.  Bellamy knew all about her previous relationships, but the last woman that he dated (that Clarke was aware of, at least) was Roma.  A 27 year-old attractive male like Bellamy couldn’t stay celibate for too long, right? 

“You don’t need to play matchmaker, okay?  I know how this works, considering I’ve been playing the field much longer than you have.”

Clarke shrugged as if it was no big deal.  _Right…no big deal._   “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.  I just thought I would—what is it the cool kids say these days?  ‘Help a bro out.’  I could be your wingman and vice versa.  Since you’re so new to this city you should really take advantage of this offer because, being a girl myself, I’m a lot more valuable as a wingman than someone like Miller when it comes to knowing what women actually want.”

“Is that so?” Bellamy asked, hesitant yet on the verge of being intrigued.

“Absolutely,” she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat.  So, this is what they were now.  Bros.  What was so ridiculous about it all was how quickly she would settle for _this_ over not having him in her life at all.  “Well, I’m rather excited to jumpstart this new plan of ours.  So, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna head out because I have a lot of cramming for my bloodborne pathogens exam tomorrow.  Oh, and here’s a tip: don’t scribble your phone number on the bottom of your receipt in hopes she’ll call.  A girl like Gina is looking for an active romantic gesture, not a passive one.  Later, Bell.”

As Clarke walked out of the restaurant, the only thing running through her mind was how she felt when Bellamy first told her he was moving to Boston…and how differently she felt now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone. This is where it starts to pick up, I promise. The next chapter is where the inception of this fic actually started. I'm so excited to finally reveal it. I'll try and updated sooner (emphasis on the try).


	17. I Don't Want to Play That Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chain of events is going to be spread between three chapters. This ones a bit shorter than I planned, but that's because I needed to set up what's going to happen in the next two. No Bellarke interaction in this one, but I kind of like the friendship I created between Raven and Bellamy. Let me know what you think!

**May 2009**

The irony wasn’t lost on Bellamy, how since moving physically closer to Clarke the emotional distance between them only widened. 

Emphasis on the word ‘widened’ there, because, if Bellamy was being honest with himself, he would admit that the emotional distance was always there.  That first Thanksgiving she came home from Boston was still engrained in his head, how they made a pact over mulled apple cider to never let barriers come between them.  But there was one barrier that was tougher to tear down than the Great Wall of China: relationships.

Bellamy knew he wasn’t alone in this.  Clarke seemed to be as uncomfortable talking about her significant others to him as he was when it came to hearing about them (or in Lexa’s case, meeting them).  And then there was that whole drama with Clarke avoiding him those arduous months he dated Roma.  As much as they both believed they could pretend that their friendship was this mutually platonic thing that could revolutionize the way men and women interact, Bellamy knew that he was only fooling himself.  And maybe Clarke, for putting on a false smile and not telling her how he truly felt when she suggested they be each other’s wingman.

Wingman?  Seriously?  How long was he going to have to keep this charade up?  It was only now that Bellamy realized there had been a line between making Clarke happy and putting himself through sheer agony—and helping her find dates was _definitely_ crossing it.

One person he certainly hadn’t fooled, though, was Raven, who grudgingly became his primary outlet for ‘Clarke venting’ over the last few months.

“So, let me get this straight,” Raven said from underneath his truck, “you actually told a guy that Clarke has a sixth toe just to dissuade him from going home with her?  What happened to your ‘totally chill and supportive friend’ credo?  Hey, hand me the magnetic flex driver.” 

His general bewilderment towards auto mechanic speak was prompted with, “And that is…”

“The short metal hose thing with the red handle.”

Bellamy and Raven had developed this nice little arrangement between them, kind of a ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ thing.  It started back when the repairs to his transmission were quoted astronomically beyond his means.  Being an aspiring engineer who grew up in her parents’ auto body shop, Raven offered to handle the repairs free of charge if he was willing to help her do the research for her dissertation on ‘the impact of sustainability concepts on the organizational growth and development of businesses’.  Bellamy was a wizard when it came to perusing library archives, so it was an easy trade for him to make.    

Thus, a friendship—centered around the ancient system of bartering that our civilization was founded on—was born.  It eventually blossomed into a friendship Bellamy didn’t know he needed in his life the moment Raven called him out on his ‘obvious’ crush on Clarke; and in that moment, she was the priest and he was the sinner sitting in the confessional, unburdening himself of everything that he never could (and potentially never would) tell Clarke.

“On it.”  Bellamy rifled through her toolbox before pulling out the item in question and sliding it to her across the garage floor.  The truck was running fine now, but it was Saturday, which, according to Raven, was apparently the perfect day to clean out the exhaust.  “And, yes, I am fully aware of how petty that sounds—pretending Clarke has a deformity—but I only did it because the guy was a real skeeze ball, alright?  I still plan on being supportive, but only for someone that’s good enough for Clarke.”

Raven snorted derisively as she began tinkering away.  “As much as I appreciate that you’re trying to bring back ‘skeeze ball’, I’m calling bullshit on the fact that you think you’re going to approve of someone she dates that isn’t you.  Even an exact replica of you would not be good enough for Clarke in your eyes.”

Bellamy sat himself on a nearby stool.  “That’s because I _don’t_ think I’m good enough for her, and I have years’ worth of self-deprecation to thank for that.  But my inability to let go of Clarke isn’t the problem here.”

“It isn’t?” Raven mocked.

He ignored her.  “What I’m really worried about is this new version of Clarke that seems to be on the prowl every single night.  And I don’t just mean at bars; I’m talking grocery stores and laundromats, too.  She hasn’t been in a legitimate relationship since Lexa, which ended over a year ago, and now she’s suddenly turned into ‘one night stand’ girl.”

Raven rolled out from under the car and sat up on the creeper, brushing dirt and flakes of rust off her workpants.  “I wouldn’t read into it too much, Bell.  Clarke’s in college.  She tried the relationship thing for a while, and none of them panned out.  Maybe she just wants to enjoy the freedom of being single now.  Hell, if I wasn’t so attached to a certain blonde aerospace nerd, I’d probably be in the same boat.”

“Clarke’s never been like this, though,” he replied, grabbing a wrench off the table to occupy his hands, finding some way to pacify his general restlessness.  “She doesn’t do casual hook-ups.  I mean, you should’ve seen the look of disgust 15 year-old Clarke would send me whenever she’d come home with Octavia after school.  I won’t deny who I was then, inviting a different girl over every week, and Clarke was not at all shy about letting me know how she felt about my serial dating ways.  That life is behind me now and trust me when I say that it wasn't all it’s cracked up to be—especially for someone like Clarke, who is the epitome of pragmatism with her long list of moral codes.”

“Well,” Raven started, finally rising to put away the thing with the red handle that Bellamy already forgot the name of, “even the most pragmatic person can break.  We’re both well aware of what she’s had to endure over the last year and a half.”  She put on her gloves and snatched the wrench out of his hands before making her way over to the front of his truck to pop the hood.

“That’s why I’m so concerned.  I know that took a lot out of her, but last summer it seemed like she was finally…dealing.  And now this?  If Clarke hasn’t moved on from losing Wells or cutting ties with her mother, then who knows what kind of self-destructive tendencies she’ll spiral into next.”  There was a loud clash of metal hitting metal followed by a string of expletives from the ferocious brunette.  A moment later, she seemed to solve whatever problem she had, removing what looked to be a part of his engine while letting out a triumphant yell.  “Um…should I be worried that your taking my truck apart to clean it?”

Raven rolled her eyes as she hefted the device over to the end of the table that was covered with newspaper.  “I have to remove the exhaust manifold to clean it if you’re planning on passing your next emissions test.”  She grabbed what looked like a toothbrush with wire bristles and coated the manifold in some sort of solution before scrubbing vigorously.  “Look, Bell, if you’re that concerned, then just talk to Clarke.  She obviously values your friendship, so if anyone can help her ‘see the light’ it’s you.  And since you’re already being honest with her, you might as well throw in that you’re madly in love with her and want her to have your babies.”

“We’ve already had this discussion, Raven.  Now’s not the right time to tell her.  It’s…it’s complicated.”

“Ooh!” she exclaimed, pointing the tiny brush at Bellamy, “that should totally be the title of the movie they make based on your pathetic romantic life.  'It's Complicated'.”

He threw a rag at Raven in retaliation, which she took gratefully, wiping the excess solvent off the device as she finished cleaning it.  “And here I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” she said casually, “and as your friend, I feel inclined to tell you to stop being a pussy.  Pouring your heart out to someone is, unfortunately, always gonna be a risk, but I still think it might be better for your mental sanity to know how she feels, even if it’s not the answer you’re hoping for.   And, hey, if all else fails, it might make it easier for you to attempt dating other people again.”

This, however, wasn’t likely.  “Do I need to refresh your memory on what happened with the waitress?”

“Hey, I said ‘might’, okay?  I just meant that if Clarke doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, then it might give you the closure you need to consider other prospects.  And if you really don’t want a repeat of your last disaster of a date, just try not to talk about Clarke the entire time.  It kinda gives the wrong impression.”

Bellamy dragged a hand across his face, emotionally exhausted by this conversation and the indecision that had and would continue to plague him.  “Not to be a pest, since you’re doing this out of the kindness of your own heart, but what’s your ETA on this thing?  I’ve got somewhere to be at 9pm and I still have to shower and get ready.”

“Almost done,” she replied, bringing the device back to the truck, “I just gotta replace the gasket and then bolt the manifold in place and you should be good to go.  So, what’s happening tonight?”

“It’s an engagement party of sorts.  I’ve got a table reserved at GEM.”

“As in ‘and the Holograms’?” she asked, practically incapable of leaving her wisecracks at the door.

Bellamy shook his head.  “As in the club on Province Street.  I told you about my sister’s engagement, right?”  She nodded in the affirmative before ducking back under the hood.  “Yeah, well, they were supposed to come up for the weekend to celebrate, but her fiancé, Lincoln, got called into work on some shipment crisis.  I pre-paid for bottle service and refuse to let that kind of money go to waste, so we’re celebrating without them.  If you and Wick are free, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Raven looked thoughtful before requiring specification.  “And by ‘us’ you mean…you and Clarke?”

Bellamy released a hearty sigh.  “She’s going to be the maid of honor so, obviously, she will be there.  I asked a few of my BAC friends, but they’re all busy.  But hey, that just means more free Grey Goose for you and Wick.  Consider it payment for all the work you did on my truck today.  What do you say?”

Raven tightened the last bolt before moving towards Bellamy to pat his cheek as if he were a small, helpless child.  He really wished she removed her glove first, immediately feeling the layer of grime and grease that rubbed off on his face.  “As much as I love watching you squirm uncomfortably around Clarke like a prepubescent boy, Wick and I have plans tonight.”

Bellamy folded his arms across his chest, ever the sceptic.  “Is that so?”

“Trust me,” she said raising her hands in defense, “this is not some clever ploy to parent trap you into spending the night alone with Clarke at a swanky club.  Wick eagerly put a down payment on that house in the West End that we were looking at, so the next two weeks are pretty much reserved for boxing all of our shit up.  Can you sense the sarcasm in my voice when I say, ‘Yay! We’re homeowners!’?”

He did.  “Well, I’m sorry you can’t come tonight.  We both know I could’ve used the buffer, and a temporary reprieve from being Clarke's go-to wingman.  And congratulations.  A house is a big step forward for you two.  The moving process always sucks, but it’s worth it, right?”

Raven smiled sheepishly.  “Yeah.”  Feeling the moment growing too sappy for her liking, she punched him in the shoulder.  Man, that woman had a killer right hook.  “Alright, let me secure the hood really quick and then you can go get ready for you date/not-date with the girl that no doubt inspired you to write Mrs. Blake all over your notebook with little hearts around it.”

“Because that sounds like something I would do,” he said sarcastically.

“Maybe not, but I am very curious to receive your report Sunday morning about what happens when you put two people obliviously infatuated with one another in a dark booth with a giant bottle of vodka between them.”

He rolled his eyes, digging for his keys in his pants pocket.  “Don’t get your hopes up Raven.”

“It’s science, Bellamy,” she said matter-of-factly, shutting the hood of his truck.  “Science.”


	18. Remember Those Walls I Built?

**May 2009 (continued)**

 

Bellamy checked his phone upon returning home and noticed a text from Clarke.

 **C** : **Don’t wear the blue shirt tonight.**

Bellamy had always taken issue with communication mediums such as texting and Facebook for one primary reason: the inability to detect tone.  To the untrained eye, one might’ve sensed some passive-aggressive undertones in Clarke’s message, but Bellamy knew her well enough to know that wasn’t her style.  Aggressive?  Yes.  Passive?  Highly unlikely.

**B: Porque?**

**C: b/c my dress is blue and I don’t want to be the weirdos w/ matching outfits.**

**B: No blue. Got it.**

This was, in fact, a blessing in disguise.  The club’s dress code (no jeans, no t-shirts) ruled out the majority of his wardrobe and since he only owned two button-up shirts, nixing the blue one left him with only one other choice.  Miniscule as this victory was, putting little to no thought into what he wore tonight was a victory nonetheless.

Bellamy showered and dressed with time to spare, so he pulled out his copy of The Metamorphosis for some light reading, finishing it just before he had to hail a cab to go pick up Clarke.  Kafka’s eloquent depiction of the struggle of human existence was an odd comfort to Bellamy in times of high anxiety—and getting drunk at a night club with Clarke certainly qualified as one of those times.

He had the cabbie honk twice and then two minutes later Clarke was out the door.  Every time she wore blue she somehow managed to take his breath away, and this dress was certainly no exception.  As she descended the staircase from her apartment complex, it was reminiscent of one of those old movies he used to watch with his mom--the Hollywood starlet gliding down gracefully as her would-be lover watches in stunned silence.

His trance was broken as she let out a pained groan.  “Damn the patriarchy and its insistence on defining the female standard by a pair of 3-inch heels!  Next time we go out, I’m wearing Converse.”

“You know,” he said, after a near-fatal attempt at clearing his throat, “night clubs can get a bit drafty.  You might want to bring a sweater or, I don’t know, a burlap sack."

Clarke shoved Bellamy into the back of the taxi.  “Is this how you treated O whenever she got ready for one of her dates?”

He swallowed the apprehension he felt toward her very specific word choice before flashing a cheeky grin.  “That depends…or we calling this a date?”

A curtain of hair fell in her face as she nudged his shoulder playfully.  “Don’t be an ass.  I'm talking about this ‘overprotective brother’ shtick you can’t seem to shake.  I think you should leave that one at the door tonight and just focus on being my wingman instead.”

There’s that lovely word again.  _Wingman_.  Asking him to help her flirt with strangers at a bar was like the kiss of death.  Their night hadn’t even begun and he already wanted to make a second attempt at cancelling the bottle service so he could just turn around and go home. 

That would’ve been the practical thing to do—if he wasn’t such a masochist when it came to the blonde sitting next to him.

They pulled up to the entrance of _GEM_.  Bellamy remembered Raven’s mocking tone when he told her the name of the club, and seeing the neon letters of the sign flashing brightly did nothing to diminish his own speculation that they were about to walk into a bordello or strip club. 

He gave his name to the hostess and they were promptly seated at a table on the outer edge of the dance floor.  The booth was large, but in order to be heard over the thumping music, Clarke squeezed in close, her thigh brushing his.

 _This is going to be torturous_ , he thought, desperately needing a drink (or four) to calm his racing pulse.

A bottle of Grey Goose arrived shortly thereafter, along with a few glasses, some mixers, and a bucket of ice.  Their waitress, Molly, prepared their first round of drinks.  “So, when’s the rest of your group arriving?”

Bellamy slumped back against the booth.  “It’s actually just us tonight.”

“Oh,” Molly replied, hesitating a moment before finally deciding to hand him his vodka tonic.  “It’s just that our bottle service packages usually start at four people per party…you know, for liability reasons.”

Clarke rarely missed a chance to be facetious.  “Good thing I’m Kappa Sigma’s reigning flip cup champion two years running.  I’ve got an extremely high alcohol tolerance and killer reflexes so I’m like the equivalent of three people.”

Seeing the horrified look on Molly’s face left Bellamy with the task of explaining.  “We originally had four, but my sister and her fiancé bailed on us last minute.”

The woman gave Clarke her vodka cranberry but kept her gaze on Bellamy.  “Well, I won’t tell if you won’t.  And who knows.  It might be an opportunity to make some new friends tonight.”  With a suggestive wink and a smile, she walked away.

Clarke’s derisive snort almost vodka to shoot out of her nose.  “Christ, Bell!  Do women always want to drop their panties at the mere sight of you?  I feel like I have to try way harder than you to get someone’s attention…and I’m the girl!  With, might I add, pretty decent boobs!”

His eyes involuntarily gravitated toward her chest (she had a point, after all), but he quickly recovered from his embarrassing glance, taking a large swig from his glass.  Not quick enough, apparently, surprised amusement flashing across Clarke’s face.

Needing the buzz to kick in, Bellamy polished off his drink with a grimace.  “Ugh.  Have I mentioned that I hate vodka.”

He probably did, hence why she barely batted an eye.  “I still don’t think you tried hard enough to get the refund.  I bet Molly over there would’ve done it for you…” 

“Stop wiggling your eyebrows at me like that.  It’s creepy.”  He reached for the ice to start on drink #2.  “And even though you’re probably right about the whole refund thing, I’m not gonna subject our waitress to—”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke interrupted, cupping her ear, “say that again?  Nice and slow, please.”

Only he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.  “What I mean to say is that, regardless, I’m still glad I did this.  Sure, throwing down $300 wasn’t easy, and if I had known from the start that O wasn’t coming I would’ve bought whiskey instead of vodka, but that also means that I wouldn’t have done this in the first place.  I’m not a risk-taker.  You know this about me.  So, realistically, when am I ever going to do something this extravagant again?”

Her answer was easy.  “Probably never.  Like never again.”

“Exactly.  So, let’s enjoy this moment for what it is.”  He raised his newly-filled glass in toast.  “To the engagement of my baby sister and the man she has decided—”

“Lincoln.”

“—is good enough for her, and to spending money I don’t have so the two of us can get right and properly smashed.”

“Hmm.  You went a little British there for a second but—here, here!”  She guzzled down the rest of her drink before squaring her shoulders purposefully to garner Bellamy’s full attention.  “Okay, let’s walk through our plan for tonight.  Are you looking for girlfriend material or just a one night stand?”

Ever the skeptic, Bellamy countered her question with a question.  “Do people still look for girlfriend material at bars?  I thought laundromats and libraries were the hip, new meet-cute spots.”

“In pornos, maybe,” she countered before waving a hand in the air to dismiss his segue.  “Moving on.  I’m going to assume then that, like me, you’re looking for something temporary.  What’s your backstory?  See, I was thinking of being like a kindergarten teacher—you know, wholesome and great with kids, but so burnt out by the end of a long school week that mai tais and random sex with strangers are my only salvation.”

Who’s the one describing the porn scenario now?  Bellamy leaned back, feeling a bit burnt out himself.  “Do we really have to do the fake persona thing?  It seems a little over the top for someone you’re never gonna see again.  Plus, I’m crap at keeping my stories straight.”

“The whole point,” she said, jabbing him in the chest for emphasis, “is that we’re never gonna see them again!  For one night, we get to be whoever we want to be.  For one night, all our problems and responsibilities are carelessly thrown out the window.  It’s…I don’t know, liberating.”

As Clarke made herself another vodka cranberry (this one a bit stronger than the last), Bellamy recalled his conversation with Raven.  This was the side of Clarke he was trying to tell her about, the one nobody else saw but him.  Raven brushed it off as a phase, but all this talk about being somebody else seemed like a reasonable cause for concern.  Despite everything he and Octavia tried to do for her since her world imploded a year and a half ago, Clarke’s spirit remained dark around the edges and, to make matters worse, she wasn’t owing up to her perpetual unhappiness either.

But what could he do?

Right now?  Nothing.  A crowded club was not the place for a heartfelt intervention.  Though he’d definitely have to keep a watchful eye on her tonight—wingman be damned.

“Well,” he started, between sips of his vodka tonic, “I’ve kinda always wanted to be a firefighter.”

The beam on her face was positively luminescent.  “Ooh!  I love it!  It’s much hotter if I tell them your lean physique is from saving old ladies from burning buildings instead of lugging around support beams.”

“I’ll have you know that working construction is a dangerous, manly job, and I even managed to turn a few heads in that neon reflector vest.”  He answered her smile with one more brazen than her own.  “But let’s go back to the part where you think I’m hot and have…what was it again?  A lean physique?”

Even in the dim light of the night club, Bellamy could still see a light blush encroaching on her cheeks.  “You better reign in that ego if you want me to sell your sorry ass to the eligible ladies in here.  Women like confidence, not a machismo complex.”

“Hey, I was merely repeating your words,” he said, his hands shooting up in mock defense.  They were getting low on ice so he turned around to signal the waitress for more when he noticed a familiar face over by the bar.  “Oh shit!  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”  Naturally, his first instinct was to freak out and hide behind the safety of their high-rise booth.

Clarke only paused a moment to process his sudden string of expletives before demanding an explanation.  “Well, that was weird.  Are you having a coronary or something?”  She gave him a thorough once-over, her medical faculties kicking in gear.  “Geez, you went from zero to hyperventilating alarmingly fast.  I can’t tell if this is physical or psychological.  On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your pain level right now?”   

Bellamy swatted her hand away when she tried to check his pulse.  If the situation were different, he might’ve been impressed by Clarke’s ability to suddenly sober up and play doctor, but he was much too focused on panicking to care.  “I’m fine.  I was just…caught off guard.”

“Caught off guard?” she mimicked.  “Since when does being caught off guard warrant a terribly stereotypical interpretation of someone with Tourette’s?”

Now that his breathing was normalizing, Bellamy reached out to pour two fingers worth of vodka in his glass.  The ice would have to wait.  “Since I saw Echo over by the bar.”

Clarke chewed on her lip.  “Echo?  Why do I know that name?”

Something in Bellamy knew that this probably wouldn’t end well, but he also knew it was too late to try to change the subject.  Clarke had never been one to let things go that easily.  “She’s, uh, the girl I told you about from my Integrated Design class last semester.  You know, the bodybuilder with an insanely strong handshake?”

The grin she flashed was downright mischievous and, considering the context, was akin to a predator stalking its prey.  “You mean the one that’s obsessed with you?  Don’t try to sugar coat it, Bell, I saw those texts she sent you.  That girl had it bad.” 

“I don’t even know what I did!” he exclaimed in hushed tones—as hushed as one can be in a booming night club.  “I was just as nice to her as I was to anyone in that class and, yeah, maybe I said she had impeccable craftsmanship on her Dutch Colonial model, but that’s it!”

“Aww,” Clarke said, cooing at Bellamy as she pinched his cheek, “you’re so naïve.  Complimenting an aspiring architect’s ‘craftsmanship’ is essentially a mating ritual.  So, where is she anyway?”  

“Don’t look!” Bellamy thwarted her efforts by pulling her wrist toward him.  “I don’t want her to see us!” 

“Alright, cut the theatrics.  Why are you so freaked out by this girl?  Didn’t you let her down gently when she asked you out at the end of the semester?”

“Did you actually read those texts she sent me?  Echo doesn’t take no for an answer!  She thinks my disinterest is just my way of ‘playing hard to get’.  Eventually, I had to block her number and start taking different routes to my classes to avoid running into her.  I don’t know how else I can say that I’m not interested in order for her to understand that I’m NOT interested.”

“I feel your pain—I really do—but you need to take a massive chill pill and indulge my fascination with your little predicament for a bit longer because this is too good to miss.”  With very little grace—showcasing the affect the vodka was starting to have on her—Clarke slid to the edge of the booth to get a better view of the bar.  “So, which one is she?”

“The brunette.”

She countered his response by glowering at him.  “There are like twenty brunettes, Bell, so you’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

Bellamy shrugged.  “Like what?”

“Well, what is she wearing?”

He really hoped she was joking.  “How am I supposed to answer that?  I saw her for a second before ducking out of view.  She’s wearing a shirt….does that help?”

Clarke continued to scour the crowd.  “It at least eliminates the girl with the stars on her nipples.”

“Wait…what?”  He should’ve known it was a trick the moment he turned around.

“Ha!” Clarke mused.  He was more embarrassed than disappointed that star-nipple girl was a ruse. “Men are so easy.  But since you’re looking that way, you might as well point her out to me.”

For a fleeting moment, Bellamy thought Echo might’ve already left the club and that an encounter could be avoided.  But then a horde of bachelorette partygoers vacated the bar to go dance…and that’s when he saw her.

His glance, however, lasted a moment too long.

“Well, it should be easy for you to pick her out from a crowd now,” he said after turning back around and immediately grasping the neck of the vodka bottle.

“Why?” Clarke asked, though, somehow, he thought she knew the answer before he even said it.

“Because she saw me and is now heading this way.”  Escape was an improbability at this point.  If he had to face Echo, he might as well do it drunk, which is why he abandoned his glass and started taking hearty swigs of the burning liquor straight from the bottle.

Invigorated by her inherent need to help a friend—or possibly fed up with the pity party he was throwing himself—Clarke intervened.  “Alright,” she said, snatching the bottle out of his hand.  “Let’s not reenact O’s 21st birthday, okay?  Out of the kindness of my heart, I have decided to be the _ultimate_ wingman to get you out of this mess.”  She wiggled her eyebrows devilishly—which was really of no comfort to him.  “And it doesn’t hurt that the plan I just hatched up will be wicked fun.”

The sardonic person inside of him desperately wanted to poke fun at Clarke’s sudden use of the Boston vernacular half a decade after moving to the city, but they were on borrowed time as Echo was fast approaching their table.  “Plan?”

“The easiest way to stop a girl from pursuing you is to take yourself off the market.”  Thighs already touching, she managed to scooch even closer to Bellamy and draped an arm around his shoulders.  Her touch sent a jolt of electricity through him, which only amplified as she leaned in to whisper in his ear.  “Just follow my lead and leave most of the talking to me.”

“Um, hi,” someone greeted, her voice easily discernable over the thumping music. 

Bellamy felt himself shrinking as he slowly turned his gaze on her, but before he had a chance to mimic her greeting, Clarke cut in.

“Oh, great.  We’ve been trying to get our waitress’ attention but can’t find her anywhere.”  She picked up the watered down bucket of ice and handed it to Echo.  “Can you get us some more ice?  Thanks!”

The dumbfounded expression on Echo’s face was something Bellamy could relate to.  “What…?  I’m not—”

“Ooh!” Clarke interrupted.  “And some new mixers, too.  Right, babe?”  Without warning, her fingers entwined themselves between the curly strands of hair at the back of his neck.  He gulped and nodded.  At this juncture, speaking was out of the question as he was far too focused on not becoming visibly flustered over Clarke’s delicate ministrations.  “The cranberry juice is just a little too sweet for me.  Let’s go with orange juice this time.”

Bellamy had discerned Clarke’s game by now.  She wasn’t kidding about ‘taking him off the market’.  As much as he disapproved of Clarke’s alacrity for roleplaying, it became increasingly difficult for him to see anything but the benefits of this one.

“Hi, Bellamy,” Echo greeted again, still waiting for him to acknowledge her. 

He was so wrapped up in…well, being wrapped up in Clarke that he almost forgot they had company.  He cleared his throat.  “Hi, Echo.  It’s good to see you.  How have you been?”

Echo’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.  “Well, apart from being occasionally confused for the waitstaff, I can’t complain.”

Bellamy forlornly watched as Clarke’s hand retreated from its placement behind his neck to clutch dramatically at her chest.  Man, she was good at this.  “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!  I didn’t know that you two knew each other.  When I saw you approach the table I just thought…ugh, I feel like such an idiot now.”

“It’s fine,” Echo said, visibly relaxing.  “I’d probably assume the same thing if I was in your shoes.”  She placed the bucket back on the table and began rocking on her heels, no doubt conflicted between making small chat or making a run for it.

“Well, I still feel terrible.  In fact, I insist that you join us.”  Clarke gestured at the display on the table.  “Bell decided to be a big spender tonight so we’ve got more than enough vodka to go around.”

Bellamy barely had a moment to consider whether inviting Echo to stay was counterintuitive to their mission (which he thought was to get rid of her), before the woman in question sat herself on the other end of the booth.

“I’m Clarke, by the way, Bellamy’s girlfriend.  And you’re Echo, right?”  She nodded.  “Well, any friend of Bell’s is a friend of mine.  How do you two know each other anyway?”

Being a fly on the wall had lost its appeal so Bellamy decided to participate in the conversation.  “Uh, school.  Last semester.  Echo and I did a few projects together in that Integrated Design class I told you about.”

Clarke’s face lit up.  “How neat!  I just love hearing stories about Bell’s architecture classes.”  She casually ran her hand up and down his thigh.  Was she trying to kill him?  “They sound way more interesting than the boring lectures on molecular biology and behavioral neuroscience that I have to sit through.”

Both Bellamy and Echo eagerly jumped at the distraction provided by the waitress as she finally came back with a fresh bucket of ice and some new mixers.  Clarke remained relaxed against the backrest as Bellamy offered to make the drinks.

Echo took a few healthy gulps of the vodka cranberry Bellamy made her before getting to know this mysterious girlfriend of his that he never happened to bring up last semester.  “So, behavioral neuroscience?  That sounds pretty heavy.  Are you studying to become a scientist or something?”

Clarke scrunched up her features.  “A doctor, actually.”  Echo almost choked on her drink.  “Yeah, it’s funny though, I’m in my fourth year of medical school and you would think I would have figured out by now whether I want to go into oncology or invasive cardiology.  Decisions, decisions.”

The more Clarke talked, the more browbeaten Echo looked—and the more Bellamy watched her, the worse he felt.  He could relate to that look, that feeling of swallowing your heartache so no one would see you crumble and fall.  He thought it was just a passing crush; he didn’t realize that Echo’s feelings for him ran that deep.  And, honestly, he didn’t understand why.   There was nothing special about him and Echo was probably better off holding out for someone more worthy of her affections.

“Unfortunately, there’s no cute story to go along with our encounter,” Clarke said after Echo painstakingly asked her how they met.  “When I was 14, Bell’s sister and I became best friends and she’d occasionally invite me over to hang out.  Though I may have initially thought he was cute with his Suzy Q bedhead and puppy dog eyes, we didn’t form a lasting connection until several years later.  At 14, I still thought boys were stupid and had cooties.”

Bellamy remembered that Clarke once said the most convincing lies stem from the truth, causing him to overanalyze her story.  “Wait.  You never told me that you thought I was cute back then.”

Clarke reached for her glass and downed its contents.  “And why should that matter now?” she asked, feigning confidence.  “You were…what…almost 20 at the time?  I highly doubt I would’ve fit in with your harem of ladies.”

Well, that took an unexpected nosedive.  Was that a hint of jealousy he detected in her tone?  He knew Clarke had always taken issue with him bringing girls over to the apartment when she and O were there, but he had never considered why until now.

“It matters to me,” he said, holding her gaze for as long as she was willing.

He half-expected her discomfort to kick in, imagined her swiftly breaking his gaze to redirect her attentions on Echo.  But his selfish honesty (or the vodka) must have had an effect on her because she remained just as transfixed as he was.  She even smiled, a note of intrigue lighting up her eyes, and it felt as if they had both stumbled onto something unknown yet unequivocally wonderful.

“So, I should go,” they both heard Echo announce, though it took them far too long to turn their heads and acknowledge her departure.

Clarke reacted first.  “Sorry, Echo.  I guess we’re just not used to having company on date night.”  Reprising her role, Clarke slipped her arms around his torso and nestled into his side.  His own arm wrapped around her shoulders, thumb brushing lightly across her soft skin.  He’d give anything to make this moment real.

Echo set her glass on the table and rose to leave.  “I get it--third wheel and what not.  I’ll just let you two get back to your ‘date night’ or whatever.  Um, Clarke, it was nice meeting you and I guess I’ll see you around campus, Bellamy.”

He nodded.  “Sounds good.”  The moment she left, Clarke (much to his chagrin) broke from his embrace and straightened herself out, but Bellamy waited until he knew Echo was safely out of earshot before raising his glass for Clarke to toast with him.  “And the Oscar goes to…”

Modesty was seldom her forte.  “Why thank you,” she said, fanning herself.  “You know, in case I couldn’t handle medical school, Hollywood was always going to be my fallback.”

Bellamy sniggered.  “Is that right.  Well, don’t change careers just yet, but, seriously, thank you—for, you know, helping me lie to Echo instead of manning up and telling her the brutal truth.  Can I keep you on retainer as my fake girlfriend for any unwanted attentions I may receive in the future?”

“Because women are just falling at your feet here in Boston, huh?” she asked sardonically.

Bellamy shrugged.  “I’m just saying that this little charade worked out so well that it might come in handy again.”

“I wouldn’t call it a victory just yet,” she said, leaning out to get a glimpse of the bar area, “because Echo’s still here—whispering to her friend and casting wayward glances at our table.  I think it’s time to enact Phase Two.”

His eyes widened.  “There’s a Phase 2?”

“There’s always a Phase 2.”  Clarke poured the last of the vodka between their two glasses, handing Bellamy his share.

“Down the hatchet,” he said, wincing as he forced himself to throw back the shot.  Clarke did the same, but with much more ease, and then started scooting out of the booth.  Since the alcohol had clearly began to dull her senses, she was not as stealthy as she hoped when she pulled a $20 out of her purse and slipped it onto the table.  “I saw that.”

Clarke stuck her tongue out at him.  “Oh, you big baby!  It’s just a tip.  You threw down a couple hundred for this table, the least I can do is tip our waitress.”  She straightened her dress as she stood and then reached for his hand.  “Let’s go.  It’s time to get our groove on.”

He almost obeyed, until he actually processed what she said and jerked his hand away.  “Um, I think I’m gonna pass.  Dancing in public, as you well know, is kind of a deal-breaker for me.”

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a pointed stare.

“Your dance-phobia is so weird and completely irrelevant in a place like this.  Men are essentially props for girls in clubs.  You just have to put your hands on my waist and pretend to look interested and I’ll do the actual dancing myself.”

It still didn’t seem like a convincing offer, especially since he didn’t understand how this was supposed to help get rid of Echo.

“Well,” Clarke continued, glancing back to where Echo stood by the bar, “apart from straddling you and having my way with you in this very booth, I’m not sure how else to convince that woman that we are a legitimate couple.  And since I’m rocking my disappointed face right now”—she drew an imaginary circle around her face (definitely on her way to being drunk)—“she might start to think we’re on the verge of a break-up…and you wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

Bellamy gulped, unable to get the image of Clarke straddling him out of his head.  He would be on a whole new level of desperation if he opted for that alternative, right?

Yeah.  Best to leave that off the table.

“You really think going out there will end this for good?” he asked, hesitancy somewhat ebbing away.

She rolled her eyes before using her uncanny strength to lift him out of the booth, almost tripping over her heels in the process.  “Just shut up and dance with me.”

She made a b-line for the dancefloor and he followed suit, albeit grudgingly.  Once there, Bellamy stood his ground as Clarke began oscillating to some pop song he had heard on the radio a handful of times.  She wrapped her arms around his neck, closing the already minimal distance between them.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the pulsing music.

At one point she leaned back and almost tripped again, prompting Bellamy to place his hands on her hips to steady her.  “Alright there, Barney Gumble, maybe we should call it a night.  This is starting to look a bit more like flailing than dancing anyway.”

“I’m fine,” she said with a laugh, booping him on the nose.  “Just keep your hands there so I don’t fall.”

Instead of returning to the back of his neck, her hand made a slow descent across his chest, fingers splayed over the expanse of his cotton button up.  He could feel the heat permeating from her hand as she travelled further south, another swell of heat rising from within him.

What’s happening?  This was all just for show, right?  But if it was, then why did Clarke’s eyes turn a shade darker as she mapped out his torso with her fingertips?  Why were her teeth dragging across her lower lip as she glanced between his eyes and his lips?  Why couldn’t he look away?

That last question was stupid.  This was Clarke—of course he couldn’t look away.  Deep down he knew that the alcohol was the reason behind her emboldened actions but, hell, if he wasn’t going to enjoy this image of Clarke wanting him.

Practically of their own accord, Bellamy’s hands shifted from her waist to the slight curvature of her back.  His fingertips ached with need as they pressed into the soft flesh there.

“Now we’re talking,” she said, altogether pleased with herself.  And she had every right to be considering he had subconsciously loosened up enough to start swaying in time to the movement of her hips.  So, maybe the vodka was affecting his faculties as well.

Bellamy made a conscious effort to tell himself that this wasn’t real, but he was far in now that he had actually forgotten why they were playing this game in the first place.  Maybe Clarke’s nonsense about how liberating it was to temporarily be someone else wasn’t nonsense after all.  Maybe, for just one night, he could be the person he always wanted to be.

“Is she still over there?” Clarke asked, interrupting all the potential scenarios his wild imagination had suddenly conjured up.

“Huh?” was the best he could muster.

She smiled.  “Echo, you dum dum.”  Instead of waiting for his reply, she maneuvered herself so that her back was now pressed against him, making sure his hands were still on her—feeling, caressing.  “Wow, this place is really crowded now.  I can’t make out anyone by the bar.”

Where Echo was, however, was the furthest thing from his mind.  A rare opportunity had presented itself.  He had Clarke Griffin in his arms and his partially clouded brain couldn’t justify a reason to let go.  “I guess we can just keep dancing, you know, just in case.”

The vibration of her laughter hummed through him.  “If you say so.” 

And they did—bodies moving as one to the fluctuating tempo of each new song.  Once his endorphins kicked in, any control Bellamy thought he still had was gone.  His hands were all over her now, memorizing the curves of her body, tracing up her torso and the length of her arms to eventually interlock with her fingers.  She pulled them in, wrapping them possessively around her.  He probably could’ve stopped if she asked, but she didn’t, head lolling back against his shoulder and eyes closed in rapture as she focused on their synchronized movements.  It felt so good, all of it.  From the dampened glow of her ivory skin, to her shallow breathing that mirrored his own racing heart, to her perfectly-shaped ass grinding against his—

….oh.  No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Shit!  This can NOT be happening right now.

But the suddenly stilted movements of his dancing companion had only confirmed that yes, indeed, this was happening right now.  And with Clarke as his witness…in addition to the 50 some odd people occupying the dancefloor.

Bellamy didn’t wait around to take in Clarke’s reaction, instead bolting to the nearest restroom (which, thankfully, did not have a line like the girl’s restroom did) and headed straight for one of the two enclosed stalls in the corner.  Securing the latch, he disregarded any qualms about germs and leaned his forehead against the rusty door.  _It’ll all be fine_ , he unconvincingly told himself as he took deep, steadying breaths.  _I’ll just wait this out and then walk on out of here and everything will be fine._

Miller once told him about this leg muscle exercise that apparently does the trick, but fuck if he could remember that.  Clarke would probably know though.  That little sponge of hers knows everything about the human body—”

No!  The last thing he needed to do was think about Clarke. 

He shook his head while trying to think of something else (ANYTHING else) as a distraction.  A math problem?  No.  O was always the one good with numbers.  He needed a visual, something off-putting.  For some reason, the first thing that came to mind was that night Jasper and Monty sang “Mr. Roboto” at Clarke’s birthday— _shit!  No Clarke._   He focused on the duo instead, Jasper’s goggles swinging from his neck as he traipsed across the stage.  The visual wasn’t working, so he heightened the scenario by picturing them sing the song in flowing grass skirts and coconut bras.  His brows furrowed, disturbed by the mental image he created for himself, but it proved rather successful as he felt the strain in his pleated pants begin to dissipate.

A few minutes later, Bellamy emerged from the restroom stall.  He splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror, the varnish fading and spackled around the edges.  He would have to face Clarke sooner or later, but before he did, he really needed to work on relaxing that worry line in the middle of his forehead.  That woman could smell trepidation from a mile away.

It also didn’t help that his senses were still blunted from being mildly intoxicated. 

He spotted her standing in the hallway, arms folded across her chest and back resting against the wall.

“Did you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked, unwilling to let her steer the conversation in a different (and totally off limits) direction.

She shook her head slowly.  “I’m fine.”

“Okay.  Let’s go get a cab so I can take you home.”

And that was that, right?  They would go to their respective homes, sleep it off, and by the next day it would be mutually and tacitly agreed upon that any future reference to this night would only involve Echo and Clarke’s uncanny acting chops…right?

But as the cab driver cruised down Beacon Street, Clarke decided not to stay silent anymore.

“Bellamy—”

“Don’t,” he said, eyes fixated on the streetlights they passed along the way.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

When was Clarke ever one to listen, though?  “Best friends talk about things, Bell.  Even if it’s something they maybe never had to talk about before.”

“Clarke,” he said warningly, but couldn’t come up with a reason to end this discussion without further embarrassing himself.

“It’s just that, I want you to know I’m,” she paused—wait. Was she trying to stop herself from laughing just now?  Oh my god, she was!  “I’m not upset or weirded out or anything.  I mean, it’s perfectly natural to—”

Bellamy leaned back against the headrest.  “Jesus Christ, Clarke, don’t you dare try to turn this into a medical thing.”

“I’m not ‘turning’ it into anything.  I just want you to understand that you have nothing to be ashamed of.  This kind of thing happens all the time.  The male form was, unfortunately, designed that way.”

Hold up.  “I’m sorry,” he said, finally shifting his gaze onto her, “but are you implying that this ‘kind of thing’ happens to men, but never to women?”

Her eyelids looked a little heavy but he couldn’t discern if it was from the booze or general fatigue.  “Absolutely.  Women can obviously become just as aroused as men, but we are much more equipped at hiding it…or shutting it down altogether, if necessary.”

“Is that so?”  This had Bellamy’s full attention.  “You truly believe that if the situation warranted it, you could stop yourself from getting aroused?”

Clarke didn’t answer right away though her gaze never wavered.  “Yes.”

Come tomorrow morning Bellamy would probably tell himself that vodka made him do it, because the next words out of his mouth were, “Then let’s put that theory to the test.”

Her hand flew up to her neck, powerless to stop the bright pink flush now rising to her cheeks.  “Excuse me?”

“I said let’s test it out.”  He leaned in to speak more softly so as not to be overheard by their driver.  “I bet I can make you come without removing any of your clothes.” 

She looked away from him then, but it did nothing to hide the jolt of excited mortification that transformed her features—mouth agape, eyes enlarged, chest heaving rapidly and out of tune.

Where this uncharacteristic self-assurance came from Bellamy couldn’t say.  It was new and scary and, yet, a hell of a lot better than sitting in his own lonely corner of pining, pitiful shame.  This whole night had somehow become a night of firsts for him, and seeing as he was on a roll, he wasn’t prepared to stop.

“That’s a dangerous game, Bellamy, don’t you think?  We always talk about no boundaries, but this might be crossing the line.”

Probably.  But she also wasn’t dismissing the idea either, which gave him hope that this was not as one-sided as he originally thought. Bellamy had spent the majority of their friendship thinking about what it meant and what the repercussions would be if it ever evolved into something more.

Five full years of that later and, boy, was he tired of thinking.  “So…cross the line.”

Clarke did her own bit of soul-searching as she stared at the leather interior of the seat in front of her.  There was still the risk of her saying no, Bellamy knew that much.  And if she did, he doubted there would be any serious consequences as she’d likely brush it off the next morning as a drunken mistake (or forget it even happened altogether). 

The real risk, though he didn’t realize it at the time, was if she said yes.  Saying yes wasn’t just crossing the line, it meant veering off onto an entirely new path.  It was a path no map could help them venture through.  Uncharted territory, so to speak.  It was one he had always imagined but could never actualize.

Until now.

She turned her head and locked eyes with him once more.  “Your place or mine?”


	19. I Found a Way to Let You In

**May 2009 (continued)**

Opening her eyes was a mistake.

It took a lot of effort to accomplish the task in the first place, and once Clarke succeeded, her eyelids felt heavy, the spinning ceiling reminiscent of a never-ending carousel ride.

It must’ve been early to midday—the feint beams of light shooting through her bedroom curtains had indicated that much—but the passage of time did nothing to subdue her hangover.  

Probably because Clark was still drunk.

“Stop spinning!” she shouted at her surroundings, her own voice cutting through the reverberating silence through her ears.  A not so subtle pounding in her skull ensued.  _And there it is,_ she thought. _My weekly reminder to never drink again._ She told herself this every Saturday and/or Sunday morning, but could never commit to heeding her own warning.

Vodka and wine always gave her the worst headaches the next day, so if the sloshing of her brain indicated anything, it was that she had too much of one or the other last night.  Or both, if she was feeling especially foolish.

She should’ve just stuck with gin and tonic, her new drink of choice.  She loved the piney effervescence of gin, the way it tickled her taste buds and reminded her of Christmas.  It was a hell of a lot better than straight up vodka which, no matter how many times you distilled it, tasted like rubbing alcohol.  Vodka was one thing she and Bellamy were in total agreement on, though Clarke was, admittedly, much better at disguising her aversion than he was.

 _Bellamy_.

She sat up, the mere thought of him triggering an unexpected sensation in her abdomen, and then instantly regretted it as the spinning returned full force.  She pushed through her discomfort, rubbing at her tired eyes.  Her mouth felt cottony, essence of cranberry lingering on her tongue—yep, they definitely had vodka last night—which then activated her gag reflex.  There was a glass of water on her bedside table which she reached for and downed greedily.

How that glass of water got there (since Miss Pre-Med was rarely responsible enough to stay hydrated after a ‘wild and crazy night’) was a question to be placed on the backburner as her thoughts were far too consumed with Bellamy Blake.  All she had to do was think his name and her stomach started doing backflips, but why?  Okay, it could have to do with the fact that he was devastatingly handsome—with that long torso, floppy hair, and how the angle of his eyebrows could go from brooding to charming in seconds.  Who wouldn’t be attracted to him?  And then there was that whole thing about her being hopelessly in love with him, sparks flooding her veins and shooting out her fingers and toes every time their eyes met, but that was a sensation she had grown accustomed to over the years.  This feeling, this warmth in the pit of her stomach felt…different.  Did something happen last night?

It was time to flick the devil off her shoulder and start listening to the angel.  No more black outs.

Clarke started from the beginning.  They went to GEM, she remembered that much, especially how irrationally pissed she was at Octavia and Lincoln for bailing and leaving her alone with Bellamy.  _Because that wasn’t a recipe for disaster._   Clarke fast-forwarded to the events of last night, their waitress blatantly flirting with Bellamy as she made their drinks—probably not relevant, but hard to forget nonetheless.  Then there was that college girl who apparently couldn’t take no for an answer (… _this was starting to become a theme_ ), whom Bellamy was desperately trying to hide from.  The girl’s name was a blur but she definitely remembered playing the Bonnie to Bellamy’s Clyde to scare her off.  Though it was no contest who the superior actor was in this charade, Bellamy still played his part well: caressing her arm, smiling fondly with a lovelorn look in his eyes, gripping her hips so that her body was flush against his.

Clarke blinked rapidly, removing such nonsensical thoughts from her head before slowly but surely getting out of bed.  This was obviously just wishful thinking.  In order to discover the truth, she needed to clear her mind with a nice, hot shower—and then maybe some food, if she could stomach it.

The cascading water warmed her skin and the pressure in her temples ebbed away.  The tension in her neck and shoulders eased as her fingertips massaged the shampoo into her scalp.  She closed her eyes, reveling in the feeling of warm hands against her lower back, sweeping across her rib cage (inciting a sharp intake of breath), journeying south toward the back of her knees, causing her toes to flex and—

“What the—”

Clarke’s eyes shot open, water ringlets clinging to her eyelashes.  Though her fragile heart was unwilling to admit it, Clarke knew without a doubt who those hands belonged to.  She wondered then if this was simply another fantasy created of her own devices or if that feeling deep down her gut held answers about what happened last night.

She was resolute about not reading into it though.  This was Bellamy we’re talking about!  They had been friends for so long.  The idea that something would suddenly heat up between them now seemed, well, absolutely ridiculous.

Grabbing her loofa off the hook, Clarke lathered on the shower gel before rubbing the mesh material all over her body.  Over her stomach, up and down her arms, across her collarbone where Bellamy sucked and licked with just the right amount of pressure that her face grew hot, breathing shallow, and the tension overwhelmed her senses as it kept building and building to the point where if he didn’t stop soon she was going to—

Clarke gripped the tile wall next to her.

“Fuck!”

That was new.  Thoughts of Bellamy never brought her to the brink of a climax quite so quickly before.  It might’ve had something to do with the fact that she could not only picture him doing these tantalizing things to her—but she could feel it, through her core and spiraling down to her toes, making them curl involuntarily.

She turned the knob toward the blue line, needing an immediate cool down in an attempt to gather her wits.  After a quick rinse off, Clarke toweled down and went back to her room to get dressed.  Her phone dinged as she began searching her closet, and whether it was paranoia or a bizarre form of intuition, Clarke felt a sense of dread as to who sent the message and, more importantly, what it entailed.

Perhaps she’d give Miss Cleo a run for her money, because when she mustered the courage to finally check, Bellamy’s name was highlighted on the screen.

**B: We should talk.  Lunch?**

Like a wave, everything came flooding back to her in one fell swoop.  The dancing.  His hands on her waist.  The friction.  The awkward cab ride home.  The proposition.  The bottle of wine to take the edge off.  His eyes raking over her body as she perched herself on the arm of her couch.  The overwhelming urge to wrap her legs around him while trying to put up a good front.  The smirk on his self-satisfied face as her fully-clothed hips bucked in the air.  The final release—feeling powerful and, simultaneously, helpless in one all-consuming, blissful moment.

A swarm of unanswered questions clouded her mind.  How could this happen?  What does this mean?  Why didn’t he stay?

But the most important question was _what happens next_?  This was a turning point in their relationship, so Clarke could understand Bellamy’s candor about needing to talk.  Talking was crucial.  Their next exchange of words could drastically change the fabric of their relationship…for better or worse.

**C: Ok.  Meet me here in an hour.**

An hour was good, right?  An hour gave her enough time to finish getting dressed, apply a liberal amount of makeup to hide the angry hangover she was recovering from, and maybe down a little hair of the dog while spending the next 40 minutes freaking the fuck out over what she was going to say to him.

Yes.  The makings of a fantastic plan.

But the wait felt like an eternity.  So, instead, Clarke rearranged the furniture in the living room to appease the rules of feng shui and was midway through organizing her dvds by genre (opposed to alphabetic) when someone knocked at her door.  She scrambled to find her bearings, her copies of Donnie Darko and Drop Dead Fred flying from her hands.

 _Everything’s going to be fine_ , she repeated like a mantra, abandoning the haphazard assortment of dvds on the shelves (and on the floor) to steer herself toward the door to let him in. _It’s just Bellamy.  Bellamy, your best friend.  Not Bellamy, whose lips left a permanent imprint on your collarbone.  Everything’s going to be…fine._

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice surprisingly reminiscent of a prepubescent boy.  Things were not looking good so far.

What was also not looking good was the fact that he did—look good, that is.  Fantastic, really.  Bedhead was something Bellamy had somehow perfect; which really didn’t seem fair, knowing he spent little to no effort on those unruly locks that she fantasized daily about dragging her fingers through.  And his freckles seemed especially pronounced today, from too much sun, perhaps, on his late morning run.  Then there was that blue-grey v-neck he was sporting.  Under the right circumstances, v-necks were quite possibly the sexiest article of clothing a person could own.

"Hey."  He shifted his weight, hands in the pockets of his jeans—a smart call, seeing as those hands were likely to cause certain memories to resurface.  “Did you, uh, sleep all right?”

“Despite the blaring aftermath of my alcoholic indiscretions, yeah.  Slept in till 10.”  _And who wouldn’t, after such an earthshattering orgasm?_   A thought best kept to herself.

Bellamy nodded, looking at some spot just left of her eye line.  “Good.”

A mind-numbing silence followed, possibly worse than that drive up to Boston when they weren’t on speaking terms.  That was bad.  This was hell.  There was no shortage of words that _needed_ to be said, but the lack of metaphorical oxygen in the room left them panicky and gasping for words that couldn’t reach the surface.

“So,” he finally started, and thank god for that.  Clarke had always been more of a defensive than offensive chess player.  Best to see where he’d move his pawn first and work her own strategy around it.  “Out of curiosity, how drunk were you last night?”

Her brain computed his question and then spit out an answer before consciously thinking it through.  “I’d say somewhere between Heather from _Rock of Love’s Charm School_ and Ruthie from _Real World: Hawaii_.”

Not consciously thought through, but still effective at easing the tension.  Shoulders relaxing, Bellamy allowed himself a small smile.  “You know I don’t know who either of those people are.”

“Heather?” Clarke repeated, as if saying her name again would spark a reaction out of him.  “Come on, of _Rock of Love_ fame?  The one who hurled a plate at—you know what, never mind.  Let’s just say I’m surprised my liver isn’t scarred from alcoholic cirrhosis after challenging my tolerance with half a bottle of Grey Goose.”

“So, you probably don’t remember much then?”

Clarke mentally smacked herself.  Of course.  Bellamy wasn’t as concerned with how much booze she actually consumed, but how much it affected her memory.

“Oh,” she said, worrying her lip and suddenly finding the wood panels of the floor fascinating.  “Um, no, I…I remember everything.  At least, I think I do.”

“Oh,” he mimicked, the fear in his voice betraying him.

She ventured a glance up and found him regarding her with wide, searching eyes, like he was trying to gage her reaction before either of their feelings needed to be verbalized.  Clarke, however, was impatient, and riding a fine line between nausea and starvation.  No more mind games and dancing around the obvious.  This conversation was long overdue, anyway.

“I’m assuming what happened last night is why you wanted to talk," she prompted.

His adorably freckled cheekbones were now tinted pink, which only amplified her urge to kiss him.  He cleared his throat.  “Yeah.  Do you want to grab lunch at Lucille’s first?  I can drive.”

Clarke wrinkled her nose.  “And eat in silence?  Let's just stay here.  We can talk and I can make grilled cheese or something.  Wait.  I don’t have cheese...I can make toast.”

“I’d actually prefer to go out,” he said, scratching the back of his head. 

“Listen, I’m hungry too but I honestly think food can wait.  _This,_ ” she gestured between them, “kind of takes priority, Bell.”  His body language was still emanating a strong amount of resistance.  “I don't understand.  Why do you want to go to Lucille’s so bad?”

Bellamy shrugged, shoulders angled away from her.  “I just do.  Anyway, you love Lucille’s.  You’ve never turned it down when I’ve suggested it before.”

“We’ve also never been in _this_ situation before.”  The one constant about their complicated relationship was that Clarke never let him off the hook when he was clearly hiding something from her.  “Talk to me, Bell.  Why is going out so important to you?”

“It’s just not a good idea for me to be here, okay?”

“But why?”

“Because I don’t trust myself!” he snapped, his heated gaze seeking her out, the little resolve he had left shattering like a wrecking ball demolishing a concrete wall.  “I don’t trust myself alone with you right now, okay?  Since last night, I’ve somehow managed to lose complete control over my boundaries with you.  I can’t think straight!  I need to know where the line is drawn before I do something insanely reckless and impulsive.”

Her chest rose and fell in quick succession like an animal in heat.  Pushing through the fog, Bellamy was probably right.  The practical thing to do was to have an honest discussion about boundaries in a neutral environment (like Lucille’s).  They should be smart about this and consider the impact it could have on their friendship.

The only problem was that practicality was thrown out the window the moment Bellamy admitted to losing his self-control around her.  The unbearable weight of uncertainty that she had been carrying on her shoulders for years had finally lifted and with this new knowledge she didn’t want to waste another second.

“Reckless and impulsive?”  She closed the distance between them.  “You mean, like this?”  And stood on tip toes to plant her lips on his.  It was far from perfect, like one of those old movie kisses where their mouths don’t move, lips pressed against each other with bruising force.  But as soon as Bellamy’s brain registered what Clarke was doing, his insistent and pliant mouth parted her now trembling lips, succumbing to the pleasure of the moment.

Her hands reached up to link behind his neck as their mouths moved seamlessly in sync, like a pas de deux or a pair of stars pulled into one another’s orbit.  Clarke wanted—no, needed—to know and feel every part of him, darting her tongue out to sweep along the underside of his teeth.  The peppermint sweetness of his saliva left her faint with wanting.  Or maybe it was from his hold on her, strong and possessive as if he was afraid this swell of emotion between them might vanish unless he anchored himself to it.  Clarke was fine with that.  She was willing to remain enveloped in Bellamy’s arms for as long as time allowed.

But it also wouldn’t hurt to escalate things a bit.

As lips, teeth and tongues continued to explore every fissure of each other’s mouths, Clarke began to explore other parts of him.  Clinging to the only solid thing she could find in the haze of her reckless abandon, her fingernails raked over the obstructive t-shirt that hid his well-formed pecs and made their way down his torso.  She reached the waistband of his jeans, thumb brushing against the exposed flesh of his stomach from under the raised hemline of his t-shirt.  Emboldened, Clarke took things even further, fingers gliding the zipper of his jeans down before twisting her hand to fully grasp his—

A hand, which a moment ago was tangled beneath her damp hair, quickly seized her own, halting the exploratory action.  This brought Clarke out of her trance as she looked up at him in confusion.

“Clarke,” Bellamy breathed out, voice soft yet rough with need, “shouldn’t we talk about this first?”

An obvious question with an obvious answer.  “We’ll talk.”  After all, ‘when’ was a matter of semantics.  “Later.”  Walking backward, in the general vicinity of her bedroom, Clarke beckoned him to follow with a shameless tug to one of his belt loops.

 


	20. But How Can We Love in Isolation?

**August 2009**

 

Bellamy picked at a particularly stubborn cuticle on his thumb and tapped his foot impatiently while casting glances at the other side of the room.  Neither his sister nor Clarke had yet to emerge.  “I still don’t understand why I had to be here for this.”

Clarke shouted from behind a velvet curtain.  “‘Don’t understand’ and ‘refuse to understand’ are two very different things.  I already stressed the importance of O having a male perspective.  Now, seeing as tradition forbids Lincoln from holding that privilege—and Jasper and Monty are, for obvious reasons, unqualified—that really only left you.”

Still fidgeting, he crossed his foot over his knee.  “I’m sure any unsuspecting male walking on the sidewalk would be happy to weigh in on this for you.  Besides, I’m probably less qualified than Jasper or Monty since the brother of the bride-to-be is going to rule out any dress that shows the slightest bit of skin.”

“Yeah, we know.  Burlap sack.”

Octavia threw back the curtain and marched out in an off-white silk number.  Her hands were planted on her hips as she gave her brother a hardened look.  “How’s this for a reason: a girl’s wedding day realistically only happens once in her life and seeing as you’re the only family I got left, you wouldn’t want to do anything to tarnish that for me, right?”

Of course, she had to play the ‘you’re all I have’ card.  Bellamy sighed.  “I symbolically wave my white flag to you.”

Octavia smiled victoriously.  “So,” she then beckoned, spinning slowly to give him a 360 degree view of her dress.  “What do you think?”

Ever the accommodating gentleman, he pretended to artfully appraise her dress (because what did he really know about wedding gowns), scratching his chin and taking his sweet time as he pondered his overall opinion.  “I love it.  You should definitely go with this one.”

“Ugh!”  She threw her arms up in frustration.  “You’re such a terrible liar.”  Not allowing either of them the change to contradict her, Octavia promptly returned to her dressing room to remove the offending garment.  “Clarke, can you ask Ms. Vera to bring me the one in the window in my size?”

Her friend obliged her before plopping down on the couch next to Bellamy. 

“Don’t you need to go help her out of that thing?” he asked, mostly because her proximity made his hands itch to touch her…and a tiny bridal shop in Fredericksburg was probably not the best place to lose all inhibitions.

Clarke shook her head.  “Actually, that was the initial appeal of the dress—easy to slip out of.”  She shimmied suggestively.

Bellamy messaged the bridge of his nose.  “Well, that’s an image I now need to erase from my brain immediately so thanks for that.”  Her nose crinkled as she smiled at him, amused by her own antics.  Fuck, she was beautiful—the southern sun making her skin look luminescent.  As accustomed as he was to that face, he simply never got tired of looking at her.  “So, O told me she and Lincoln made plans to have dinner with his mother.  What are _you_ doing tonight?”

Clarke was quick to realize his intent, her smile turning playful as she dropped her voice to a whisper.  “Let me guess, you’re hoping I’ll say ‘you’?”

“I mean, your words, not mine,” he said casually, his arm resting on the back of the couch as he leaned in closer, “but I’m not opposed to it.  We should probably go about this the right way though.  You’re gonna need to build up your strength to handle the workout I’ve got in store for you.  How does dinner at The Bavarian Chef sound?”

Her eyes lit up.  “Pretzels?”

“Pretzels.”  If he wasn’t afraid of Octavia walking out and catching them in the act, he would’ve devoured her lips right then and there.

Clarke seemed to be on a similar wavelength, teetering between giving in and throwing up a caution sign.  “But what about our little arrangement?  I thought we were supposed to keep it ‘friendly’ until we get back to Boston?”

Ah, yes.  The arrangement.  There were certain moments, as Bellamy gazed into Clarke’s bright violet eyes, that he forgot they weren’t an actual couple—and every time reality came flooding back in, he chastised himself for suggesting the idea in the first place.

At the time, it made perfect sense.

He vividly remembered that fateful day, succumbing to mutual desires that had been there all along.  It was everything he imagined (and more)—his weight resting on his elbow as he watched her sleep on her stomach, the smooth planes of her shoulders and back exposed to him.  

In a perfect world, he saw himself seizing this opportunity to be with her and never letting go.  He would’ve done it right, too—the ring, the suit, the fancy restaurant where all eyes would be on her the moment he got down on one knee.  Why waste time on courtship when he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her?

But as he continued to watch her slumbering form, looking so peaceful and content, he was suddenly struck with the profound reality that she wasn’t, in fact, at peace nor content.  On the surface, and to everyone else, she seemed fine, but Bellamy was able to look past the façade and see the self-deprecation (something he was all too familiar with) and the constant need to keep others at arm’s length.  This was why she hadn’t held a relationship since Lexa and why she was, instead, finding cheap thrills with strangers in bars.  Last year was brutal, and though he certainly did everything he could to help her through the grieving process, these were scars that simply weren’t ready to heal. 

Which was why Bellamy began to wonder if jumping head first into a relationship with Clarke, the love of his life, would only be setting them up for failure.  Because what if they did go for it?  What if they were happy for a while but then Clarke pushed him away because she thought it would be safer to let him go instead of lose him?  That’s what she did with Raven and, on occasion, even Octavia.  The only reason she couldn’t shake Bellamy was because he physically relocated his entire life to be near her. 

He had told himself years ago that he would wait for Clarke—for as long as it took—but how long was too long?  How much can a guy physically take before throwing in the towel?

That was when he made the proposition.

When she woke, Bellamy took the reins on their much needed talk, making sure first and foremost to emphasize how important it was to keep their friendship intact.  She was quick to agree.  As a friend, she’d always need him and he wanted her to be sure she could count on that. 

The proposal was enacted to keep things casual (for now, at least).  He suggested a ‘friends with benefits’ scenario so they could be unconfined by the usual conventions of a full-fledged relationship.  Not, of course, to take that off the table completely.  Further down the road, if they still wanted to be together, then maybe they could give the whole 'relationship' thing a go.  But if either party met someone else, the ‘benefits’ part of their relationship would cease and they’d go back to just being friends.

Oh, and Octavia was to be kept in the dark, which meant no fooling around in Virginia.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Bellamy mused, rubbing the back of her neck with his thumb.  The curtained dressing room was on the opposite side of the shop, so this little gesture of affection felt safe from Octavia’s prying eyes.  “But I only said it because if O found out about us, she’d ring my neck.  That being said, we’ll just have to be extra stealthy.”

Clarke cocked an eyebrow.  “You sound very confident that this is happening tonight.  I, on the other hand, am not so sure.  I mean, we’re staying with Lincoln and O, so that kinda limits places in which we would'nt be…interrupted.  The seedy motel down the street?  The back of your truck parked somewhere along the dock?  That’s not really my idea of romance, if you catch my drift.”

Accepting defeat for the second time today, Bellamy slowly increased the distance between him and Clarke, nestling further into the backrest of the plush couch.  “Three days till we get back to Boston, right?  And the countdown begins.”  Waiting was something he had become rather good at anyway.

She patted his knee in a small gesture of sympathy, but left him with no usual quip.  It took him a moment to realize that her sudden lack of speech was in response to whoever walked through the front door of the shop.

“If those are the new ECG monitors I ordered, just put them in exam room 5.  And, Jackson, don’t forget that I also have a laparoscopic adrenalectomy scheduled for 4pm so have the patient’s charts and labs set out for when I return.”

The woman’s voice sounded vaguely familiar, but one glance at Clarke—who’s face managed to convey shock, anguish, and longing all in one encompassing look—told him exactly who it was before he turned around to get a look for himself.  Dr. Abigail Griffin was standing by the register waiting for assistance, tall and stoically beautiful in a grey skirt and black button-up blouse, every item impeccably ironed.  She was exactly as Bellamy remembered.

Ms. Vera emerged from the curtains in the back and apologized profusely for keeping the resident doctor waiting.

“Yes, I’m here to see if the Valentino dress I placed on special order has arrived,” Abigail said, closing her phone and stowing it away in what was probably a designer handbag.  “It’s under—”

She froze mid-sentence as her own daughter rose from the couch behind the counter, making her presence known.

“…Clarke.”

Bellamy was afraid to move an inch or breathe a word as it might disrupt the natural order of things, so he sat quietly and watched the careful exchange between mother and daughter.

Clarke visibly gulped, probably to make it easier for her to speak.  “Abigail.”

“It’s…it’s been a long time.”  Dr. Griffin abandoned her inquiry about the dress and stepped closer to where Clarke stood.  She, in turn, stepped back.  “Your hair looks different.”

“Lowlights.”

As much as Clarke probably needed to hash it out with her mother, after almost two years of not speaking, she didn’t seem overly loquacious.

“Hello, Bellamy,” Dr. Griffin then said, switching gears in what he assumed was an attempt to get in her daughter’s good graces.  The best way to get to Clarke, after all, was through her friends.  “I wasn’t aware that you two would be gracing us with your presence this summer.  How long are you visiting for?”

Bellamy was stuck between a rock and a hard place.  Precedent commanded him to stay true to the manners he was brought up on and answer the doctor’s question, but as Clarke’s closest confidant (and, now, lover) he didn’t know if he was allowed to speak to the woman.

Clarke made no silent glance of protest, keeping her gaze steady on her mother, so he took that as a sign to respond.  “Um, not too long actually.  We arrived about a week ago, but we have to hit the road Sunday morning.  Clarke’s got her first day of residency on Monday.”

It just slipped out, but he couldn’t really blame himself for wanting to boast of Clarke’s stellar accomplishments.  He even told Ms. Vera almost as soon as they entered the shop.

“Oh, I heard!” Abigail said full of pride as she turned back to Clarke.  “MetroWest is a wonderful place to start your residency and Dr. Landon says he sees great potential in you!”

This, unfortunately, triggered something inside of Clarke and she found her voice again.

“Dr. Landon said that?”  She was calm at first, but the buildup of her anger culminated with every subsequent question.  “He said that to you?  Which means that you talked to him, right?  And when was this, exactly?  After I got accepted?  _Before_ I got accepted?  Or maybe it was before I even drove away to live in Boston four god damn years ago!”

Abigail was positively flummoxed.  “Clarke…there’s no need to make a scene.  Perhaps we should talk about this somewhere a little more private, yes?”

Clarke resolutely folded her arms across her chest.  “I’m not going anywhere with you.  I thought I already made it perfectly clear that I want nothing to do with you the day I moved all of my shit out of your house.  I mean, what part of ‘I’m moving to Boston to seek a future in medicine without relying on nepotistic preferential treatment’ did you not understand?”

“Clarke, please,” her mother begged, moving close enough to place her hands on the back of the couch.  “I promise I had no hand in your residency.  That was all you and your tremendous hard work.  I only contacted him because you refuse to speak to me!  How else am I supposed to know how my only daughter is fairing in a big city all alone?”

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Clarke shook her head.  “I’m not alone.  I have Bellamy.”

“And me,” Octavia suddenly chimed in, walking towards the fray in a strapless white gown.  “Just because she doesn’t talk to you anymore, it doesn’t mean she’s without a support group to help get her through the rough patches.  Clarke has friends, here and in Boston.  She’s safe with us and considering secrets were what got you in this mess in the first place, it’s really not a good idea to be secretively checking in on your daughter.  If she wants to talk to you, she will.  For now, I think it’s best you keep your distance.”

Dr. Griffin’s gaze alternated between Octavia, Clarke and Bellamy as she pondered her options.  He might’ve been imagining things, but her gaze seemed to last a little too long on him, eyes narrowing as if some unforeseen thought came to mind.  The thought remained unspoken, however, as Dr. Griffin ultimately chose to bow out gracefully.  “Vera, have the dress ready for me tomorrow morning.  I’ll have my assistant come by to pick it up.”

Vera nodded obediently before all four occupants of the shop silently watched the doctor make her exit.  “Well, that was certainly more exciting than one of my soaps,” she said, hoping to relieve some of the tension in the air.

“There’s never a shortage of excitement with us, I’m afraid,” Octavia responded, fanning herself and occasionally adjusting the bodice of the dress she now wore.  “Man, releasing your temper on someone can really work up a sweat.  I’m so glad we picked an early spring date for the wedding otherwise I’d be a hot mess.”

As if somehow noticing her for the first time, Clarke, Bellamy and the shop owner simultaneously turned around to look at Octavia…and were stunned into silence.

Seeing their dumbfounded looks, she stopped using her hand as a fan, arms now like sticks at her sides.  “What?”

“That…that dress,” Clarke fumbled, almost at a loss for words.  “It’s perfect!”

Ms. Vera clasped her hands gleefully.  “Mon cheri, you look positively divine!”

“Really?” she asked, eyes sparkling with hope and a small degree of trepidation.  He should’ve known those eyes would turn on him next.  Perhaps he wasn’t the last resort to get a male perspective after all.  Perhaps his opinion always mattered to her.

Fortunately, there was no need to pretend this time around.  “I still don’t think I’ve let it sink in, that my baby sister’s actually getting married.  But, if you are, then it’s gonna have to be in this dress.  You look beautiful, O.”

Big emotional displays were not Octavia’s forte, but every once in a while she allowed herself to let her brother know how much she loved him.  Arms outstretched, she darted forward and encapsulated him in her stronghold.  “Thanks, Bell.  That means a lot.”

As touching as the tender moment between siblings was, Ms. Vera was eager to close for lunch but wouldn’t do so until she got Octavia’s measurements in, so she quickly ushered the girl back into the dressing room.

When Bellamy turned around he found Clarke staring at the front door again.  “Don’t let her get to you, Clarke.  Even with all the lies that woman’s thrown around, the one thing she said that I do believe is that you got that residency all on your own.”

Clarke hugged her shoulders and glanced back at Bellamy.  “I just hate when she does that.  It’s all too Big Brother for me.”

“Despite her unorthodox methods,” he started, carefully prying her hands from her shoulders before locking their fingers together, “the reality of the situation is that she’s just a mother looking out for her daughter.  You don’t have to want to talk to her, but it doesn’t mean she’s ready to be out of your life completely.”

Strands of hair fell in Clarke's face as she shook her head.  She eventually leaned in to press her forehead to his chest, a resolute harrumph expelling from her lips.  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He released one of her hands to draw soothing circles on her back.  “What shall we talk about then?”

Cold fingers reached under his t-shirt to dance across his abdomen. She leaned up, mere inches from his face and grinned alluringly.  “Which secluded part of town you plan on taking me tonight…and yes, I do mean that as a euphemism.”

After months of living in a blissful fantasy, this was the first (and hopefully only) time Bellamy was not instantaneously aroused by Clarke’s seduction.  It may have something to do with the fact that this was also the first time Clarke’s need for sex wasn’t actually about him.  This was about Abigail Griffin.  Sex was just a means to an end, a way to block out the overwhelming emotion that came with seeing her mother again.

As much as he was regretting his decision 15 minutes ago, the proposition suddenly became something they both needed.  She needed a temporary release for her pain.  He needed a way to be with Clarke without the risk of either of them getting hurt.

He just really hoped this wouldn’t come back to bite him someday.


	21. You Don't Know What I'm Feeling

**February 2010**

 

Clarke Griffin forgot what it was like to have fun. 

Now, at 23, it felt like the first time in a long time that she allowed herself to just...enjoy life. 

And enjoy it she did.

The thing is, 'fun' didn't even begin to describe the way Bellamy Blake made her feel.  Every moment they spent together, the world around them simply stopped.  The guilt of their past and the uncertainty of their future never plagued them in those moments, because they allowed themselves to be two people, caught up in a fever dream that they never wanted to wake from.

And who would, with someone as unreservedly perfect as Bellamy to be caught up in?

They did stupid things together like day drinking at Bleacher Bar while catching a Sox game and taking a trip down to Cape Cod just to watch some guy make hand-blown glass.  She even convinced him once to get a tattoo (an ancient clock with roman numerals on the dial on his left bicep).  There were even days when Clarke just wanted to be alone with her thoughts, which he would oblige without hesitation.  She would eventually (and inevitably) break down, showing up on his door step with a bottle of Jameson and a list of conversation topics to distract herself from being consumed by her overwhelming loneliness.

There was also the sex. 

Now, Clarke has had her fair share of sexual partners—generally preferring the company of women due to their overall selflessness when it came to love making—but Bellamy Blake’s understanding of the female form was in a league of its own.  It didn’t take him long to discover every sweet spot on her body, lavishing his attentions (with his tongue or his goddamn hands) and then abruptly stopping to the point where she was gasping and panting with need.  They also made it their mission to christen every room in their respective apartments (against the kitchen island was one of her personal favorites), even working their way up to more exotic locales like the bathroom stall in GEM (naturally, returning to where it all started) and after hours in one of Clarke’s chem labs.

On more than one occasion, as Bellamy would softly kiss behind her earlobe or suck on the sensitive flesh of her thigh, she asked herself breathlessly why they waited so long to do this.  Why did she waste her time on Finn and, later, Lexa when this walking sex god had merely been a phone call away?

But the simple answer to that question was that it wasn’t their time.  And with as many things that she regretted about those relationships, she knew that without them she never would’ve met Raven or discovered a certain part of herself that she hardly knew existed. They were a necessary part of her journey, and maybe they were what she needed to potentially have a lasting future with Bellamy.

Some nights, while carefully observing Bellamy from the other side of the couch—as he’d map out schematics for class or leisurely read something by Keillor or Conrad—Clarke envisioned herself telling him that they should just make it official.  They already knew they were compatible socially and emotionally (and, if the shutter of pleasure that crept up her spine was anything to go by, they sure as hell had physical compatibility), so it seemed like the logical next step to redefine the parameters of their relationship.  Especially since there was no one else.  For Clarke, there would never be anyone else.

But every time she thought about pathetically pouring her heart out to him, her thoughts returned to why they started this casual thing in the first place.  It had been Bellamy’s idea from the start, and though a part of her simply agreed to it to spare herself the pain of admitting she wanted more, time allowed her to see the truth: she wanted to be with Bellamy for all the wrong reasons.

Sure, she loved him.  There was no questioning that.  But Wells’ death changed things.  She didn’t just want to be with Bellamy…she needed him.  He was her crutch, her anchor, her saving grace in this hellish existence she couldn’t escape from.  He made her feel good.  He made her feel safe.

And what the hell had she ever done in return?

Looking back on all the times he was forced to play her knight in shining armor, she wondered why he never gave up on her.  Clarke didn’t deserve a forever with a guy like Bellamy Blake.  Not in her current state, anyway.

One night, while watching this embodiment of perfection out of the corner of her eye and mulling over their entire acquaintance in the span of a few minutes, an epiphany struck Clarke.  _It was time for a change._   If she wanted to be with Bellamy for real, then she needed to stop holding onto the past and looking toward the future.  No more moping over a lost childhood or negligent mother.  Things may have been lost to her, but she understood now that there was no point in trying to get them back.  She needed to focus her efforts, instead, on all that she gained.

So, on a cold day in February, instead of taking a cab to her shift at the hospital, she walked. And along the way, she spied a secondhand bookstore and stepped inside.  And after perusing the shelves for a few minutes, she left the store with two self-help books to start her on this path of change.

Next on her list was to call Raven, who, after some initial groveling, agreed to meet Clarke at a coffee shop near her home in the West End.  There weren’t many people like Raven Reyes in the world, and Clarke made sure to remind the woman of that fact in between sips of tea…and more groveling.  Conversation between them started relatively light (catching up on this and that), but it wasn’t long before Clarke found herself confiding in Raven, spilling all the intimate details of her pity party for one, as well as how quickly things progressed with Bellamy.  It was oddly therapeutic.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Raven interrupted, waving her hand in the air dismissively.  “I actually didn’t need a play-by-play of your sexual exploits to get the big picture.  The fact that you guys have actually played ‘doctor’ is just so weird to me.”

Clarke’s orange blossom oolong tea (she was trying to give up coffee) was now lukewarm, allowing her to gulp it down greedily.  “I don’t know why that’s weird,” she replied, wiping the corners of her mouth.  “Role playing is great foreplay.  And since I happen to know the anatomical term of every body part, I put on a pretty convincing show.”

“Please do not tell me he actually gets off on you using those big, fancy words.”

Clarke responded with a self-satisfied grin.

Raven pretended to gag.  “Eww.  Alright, let’s get back to the part about how you can’t stop doodling Mrs. Blake in your diary and you want to create this grand, romantic gesture to tell him you love him.”

“What?  There’s no grand, romantic gesture happening.”  She purposefully ignored the ‘Mrs. Blake’ part of Raven’s assessment because there may or may not be evidence supporting that…from many, many moons ago, obviously.  “At this point, we just need to have a realistic conversation about where things are going between us.  But I don’t think I can do that until I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.  That book I’m reading suggested I keep a journal and write down everything I never got the chance or found the courage to say to the people in my life.  It only took me three days to get ¾ of that thing filled.  Honestly, I’ve still got a lot of shit to work out and he shouldn’t have to deal with my crazy.”

“I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed, Clarke,” Raven said in that blunt way that Clarke always found so refreshing.  “Bellamy’s been all up in your crazy since day one.  And do you see him trying to scramble his way out?  No.  That motherfucker had several chances and chose, instead, to move across the country to be closer to you.  Seriously, if you only knew half of what he told me in confidence.  It’s funny, you know, how you both seem to think my company comes with a therapist’s couch attached to it.  That ‘conversation’ you’re banking on needs to happen sooner than later.  I don’t know how much more of this middleman shit I can take.”

Clarke shrunk down in her seat.  “I know.  But it’s not our fault you’re just so easy to talk to!”

Raven shrugged.  “Should it really be easier to talk to me then Bellamy?  You said yourself that you consider him your best friend?  Truthfully, if he hasn’t run yet, he’s not going to now.  Did you want a refill on your tea?”

“No, thanks.  Two’s my limit.  I have to finish my psychiatric report tonight and too much caffeine makes it impossible for me to focus.”

Raven started to slowly stand up.  “Alright, well I’m gonna grab a scone to go and then I gotta meet Wick.”

Clarke batted her eyelashes playfully.  “And what do you two lovebirds have planned today?”

“Actually, we’re picking out china patterns.”

The remains of Clarke’s drink went down the wrong pipe, so she sputtered and attempted to clear her throat before responding.  “What?  Seriously?”

But Raven was no good at keeping up the ridiculous charade.  “Hell no.  I’ve just always wanted to hear myself say that.  We’re actually checking out the new exhibit at the Museum of Science on the tech behind Star Trek.”

Still coughing, Clarke managed a small nodded.  “Now, see, that’s _way_ more believable.”

Raven was about to hug her friend goodbye, but a thought gave her pause.  “That journal you’re writing in…if you really don’t think you can open up to Bellamy face-to-face, why don’t you just have him read _that_?”

“The journal?  I don’t know,” Clarke said, internally freaking out at the prospect of anyone, let alone Bellamy, reading it.  “There’s a LOT of…personal stuff in there.”

“Something tells me he could handle it.  Okay, I really do have to go, but let’s not make it a whole two months before we see each other again, huh?”

Clarke wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck, utterly grateful to have someone like Raven in her life.  “I promise.  You’re important to me, Raven, and I think it’s about time I start obnoxiously showing it.”

“I can’t wait.”

From the comfort of her cozy seat in the cab, Clarke observed the throngs of pedestrians bundled up in their winter best as they rushed from point A to point B.  Her mind was somewhere else though, pondering the implications of Raven’s suggestion.  There was more in that journal than Bellamy needed to know, but many of those shared thoughts might give him some answers to the questions he was more than likely seeking.  Since the death (oh, who was she kidding, outright murder) of her father, Clarke’s only true solace had been in safeguarding herself from others.  Bellamy may have been one of the few people she trusted and confided in, but that didn’t mean he knew _everything_.

Maybe it was time he did.

Her journal was eventually filled and, like any story, it had a beginning, middle and an end.  Not an ‘end’ in the sense that her story was over, but more like the end of one era and (hopefully) the beginning of a new one.  A better one—one that would make her father and Wells proud.

Deciding it was best to limit her interaction with Bellamy during this pivotal time in her life, Clarke used the overwhelming demands of her residency as an excuse to create some distance between them.  All things considered, it was pretty believable.  She told herself it was for the best, as sex had the tendency to complicate things, especially for a young woman on a journey of self-discovery. 

The moment of truth was planned down to a T.  She invited Bellamy over for dinner under the pretense that she was testing out her skills in the kitchen and he was to be her (reluctant) guinea pig.  He was fully aware that Clarke couldn’t so much as boil water without somehow fucking it up, so he was taking a huge risk in coming over.  Little did he know that this act of kindness (or blind faith) would be rewarded with Chicken Marsala from Alfredo’s, discreetly delivered 20 minutes prior to his arrival—take out containers carefully discarded and pasta arranged pleasingly on fancy dinner plates she bought at Bed, Bath & Beyond.

They ate in companionable silence after initial inquiries on the goings on of their lives.  He only spoke once in between mouthfuls to give Clarke high praise on the masterful meal she prepared.

A few minutes later…

“This is from fucking Alfredo’s, isn’t it?”

Clarke clutched at her chest in mock surprise.  “Why, Mr. Blake, I resent that accusation!  As a woman in my mid-twenties and living on my own, it is imperative for me to learn basic cooking skills.  Your emphatic doubt seriously wounds me.  If I can perform open heart surgery, then surely I can follow a simple recipe.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “How long are you gonna hold the ‘I can perform open heart surgery’ thing over all of our heads?  You operated on a cadaver…if they’re already dead, you can’t know for sure that you performed it successfully.”

“I can do it better than you,” she retorted, brandishing her usual stubborn charm as she folded her arms across her chest.

“Perhaps, but you can’t make Chicken Marsala better than me.  Or Alfredo, for that matter.”  Bellamy didn’t wait for her response, instead running over to her garbage can, lifting the lid, and sifting through some used paper towels before finding what he was searching for.  “Aha!”  He snatched up a discarded, off-white doggy bag and waved it in the air triumphantly.  “This take-out bag looks suspiciously familiar.”

Clarke took the bag from him and shoved it back in the trash.  “Fine.  You win. There’s no need to go dumpster diving to prove a point.  Let the record state that I still can’t cook and have no intention to learn how to cook, but once the letters PhD are permanently fixed to my name I will be forever excused from ever learning that trade.”

Bellamy let out a low chuckle before making his way back to his seat.  “I get that.  I’m not even necessarily judging you for it.  I’m just…well, I’m just surprised you felt the need to pretend you could, for my sake.”

“It was the only excuse I could think of to invite you over here. “

“And you thought you needed one?” he asked, rhetorically, of course, because they never needed an excuse before.

So, here it was.  The moment of truth.  In all the time it took to get here, Clarke imagined several times over that she would probably chicken out (no pun intended…).  But now that she was, in fact, _here_ , an odd calm rushed over her as she fixed her gaze on the man sitting across the small, square table.  Something in her just suddenly knew that they were meant to be together, that they could finally get the happily ever after they both deserved.

“Actually, there’s a reason for all this pomp and circumstance.  You’ve probably noticed recently that I’ve been sort of distancing myself from you.  More than anything, it was so that I could clear my head because—” _You can do this! Don’t get cold feet now!_   “Because I have something to tell you…no boundaries and all.”

The expression on Bellamy’s face was rather neutral until his eyebrows slowly knitted together, gaze drifting to the leftover chicken and mushrooms scattered on his plate.  Not wanting to read into it too much just yet, Clarke used that break in eye contact to go retrieve her journal, now neatly packaged in glossy blue wrapping paper.

“I have something to tell you, too,” he then said, which gave her pause.

Clarke was opening the drawer in the side table next to her couch, but found herself halting this pursuit almost immediately.  “Oh?  How convenient.”  As she looked at him now, she sensed something strange in him; something that, honestly, neither of them were prepared for.  “Did, uh, you want to go first, or should I?”

“I met someone.”

As much as Clarke wanted (no, needed) to be in this life-altering moment completely, her world became hollow and her mind subconsciously drifted to one of her previous lectures on how to detect the signs of a myocardial infarction.

Pain or heaviness in the chest, arm or below the breastbone?  _Check_.

Rapid or irregular heartbeats?  _Check_.

Sweating, nausea or dizziness?  _Triple check_.

The feeling that you’re choking and you’re not sure how (or if) you’ll ever be able to breathe again?

 _All signs point to yes_ —so, the obvious conclusion was that she was having a heart attack. Clarke Griffin, not even of age to rent a car—who, okay, occasionally divulged in fried food goodness, but also enjoyed the healthy shit, too—was suffering from a heart attack and now Bellamy was going to have to watch her die and, fuck, this was really not the way she planned to go.

“Clarke?”  His voice was tinged with concern, but not to the extreme of someone witnessing another person die in front of them, so it was starting to look more like a panic attack.

Panicking and dying felt oddly similar though.

Using what feeble strength she still possessed, Clarke closed the side table drawer with the journal still safely tucked away inside.  God, why do people fall in love?  Seriously, what’s the point?  All it does is set your hopes up before savagely and unexpectedly demolishing said hopes with a single look, word, or sentence.  _He met someone._   Clarke had loved and lost more than the average person could handle, so she should’ve been numb to it by now.

But losing the last fragile piece of your heart hurts just as bad as the first one.

“Clarke?  Did you hear me?”

“Huh?” she mumbled breathlessly, finally meeting his gaze.  Bellamy really did look concerned, but for as many times as he played her knight in shining armor, she couldn’t see how he could rescue her from this.  “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping much with midterms coming up.  Uh, yeah, I heard you.  That’s…that’s actually really great, Bell.  I’m happy for you.”

“You are?”  That should’ve been a question, but the way he said it—subtle hints of disappointment undermining his tone—sounded more like a conclusion that he came to and was rather surprised by.  

Should she not be happy for him?  That’s what friends were for, right?  Obviously, she wasn’t.  On the inside she was a hurricane of emotion, thrashing about wildly and leaving only chaos and destruction in its wake.  On the outside, though…well, she would be who she had to be.  “Absolutely.  I mean, we both knew this day would eventually come.  I guess you just beat me to it.”  She smiled to stop the threat of tears.

Bellamy’s face fell.  “Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging and looking around anxiously.  “I just thought that you were going to tell me that you met someone, too.  I feel kinda dumb for blurting that out now.”

“I’m afraid this gal’s still flying solo.  But, seriously, don’t worry about me.  It’s like I said, something like this was inevitable.  We were never meant to last, right?”  _Yep, keep digging that hole, and then bury yourself, while you’re at it._

Bellamy only nodded, consumed by his own thoughts.  “So, what was it, then?”

“What was what?”

“Your news.  You said you had something to tell me, ‘no boundaries and all’.  I figured it has to be pretty important.”

_Fuck._

In her crushing grief, she hadn’t even considered the lie she would have to come up with in order to keep him from knowing the truth.  “Oh, that.”  She walked back to the table and began to leisurely down the contents of her wine glass, killing time to process and refocus.  Something important.  What was something important she would need to tell him?  “It’s actually about…the wedding.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, see I was thinking that being the two most important people in O’s life, aside from her fiancé, we should do something special for her.  You know, like dedicate a song or do a joint speech with some funny anecdotes thrown in, or maybe we could go halvsies on a really awesome wedding gift like a cruise or a trip to Thailand.”

Bellamy’s shoulders relaxed as he made his qualms known.  “It’ll be hard for me to pay for my sister’s honeymoon since I’m only working part-time now.  I can barely afford the tux I rented.”

Clarke threw her hands up in the air, secretly relieved their previous conversation was now abandoned.  “It was just a suggestion.  I just wanna do something meaningful, you know, that will surprise her and remind her how much we love her and maybe if we’re lucky enough she’ll start crying and give us crap for at least a couple of years about making her cry in front of all of her wedding guests.”

Bellamy smirked.  “Wow, you really are a true friend.”

His sarcasm was obviously meant in jest, but, in light of recent events, those words seemed to resonate with her, piercing the very core of her being. 

_A true friend._

_What did that even mean anymore?_

 


	22. I Try to Catch Myself, But I'm Out of Control

**April 2010**

 

Bellamy Blake was by no means a model citizen, yet he prided himself in staying true to his mother’s careful upbringing and could even count on his hands all the wrongs he had to make right.

That night at Clarke’s place, however, might’ve been beyond repair.

Sure, he’s said or done things he regretted before—especially where Clarke was concerned—but in a tournament of royal fuck-ups, this one came out victorious.  All future fuck-ups would lay down their swords in defeat and it would remain the reigning champion for all eternity.

Okay, that might’ve been an exaggeration (and heavily influenced by his frequent viewing of _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ ) but it didn’t change the fact that the words had been said and he was now stuck with the consequences.

_I met someone._

Seriously?  That was the only way to possibly diffuse that situation?  Because, in truth, he hadn’t met someone. 

As far as Bellamy knew, there was only Clarke. 

But he let his stupid self-deprecation rear its ugly head and, worried that she invited him over for dinner to call their arrangement off, beat her to the punch by creating a fictional girlfriend.  And then it imploded in front of him when it turned out that she hadn’t met someone else and had no intention to end things between them.  At least, that’s what he assumed.  Clarke’s news had to have been important, otherwise why all the fanfare with the excuses and the dinner preparations?  He didn’t buy the whole ‘wedding gift’ thing.  There was definitely something else going on, and a part of him wondered if his own confession scared her out of revealing it.

So, here they were.  Back to square one…it might even be negative one by now.  It was hard for him to keep track, but the point was that their relationship had somehow de-evolved from whatever the hell they were to casual friends who keep secrets from each other.  Who knows.  Maybe next they’ll just stop speaking to each other altogether.

Not wanting to concern himself with such a bleak possibility, Bellamy instead focused on the task of getting an actual girlfriend.  If he didn’t, Clarke would know something’s up, and the prospect of telling her the truth was just too horrifying to even consider.  So, letting his problems snowball down a massive hill until it became a ball of ice large enough to destroy an entire village, Bellamy asked out the first person he could think of: the cute blonde that worked at the coffee shop he started going to.

It shocked the hell out of him when Bree actually said yes.  They barely had occasion to talk before—he only knew her name because of the colorful nametag on her apron and, well, he had to give his with every vanilla latte he ordered—but she had a nice smile and seemed pretty down to earth.  She must’ve seen something in him too, though once she got to know him better she’d probably change her mind.

_Oh, hello, self-deprecation.  I see we’re crossing paths again._

After their third date, Bellamy introduced her to Clarke.  Clarke was civil, shared a few laughs with Bree (naturally, at his expense), and made no indication, apart from being initially surprised, that anything was wrong with the way things were now.

He hated how disappointed that made him feel.

But he pushed that thought into the back of his brain and looked to the future.  It helped that Bree was actually pretty cool.  He didn’t necessarily see a forever with her, and it soon became apparent that she felt the same way, but being with her was a reminder that—to use a cliché—there really were other fish in the sea.  Perhaps he could be happy (temporary as that may be) with someone other than Clarke.  Hell, he might even be happ _ier_ considering how psychologically fucked up his relationship with Clarke was at this point.  Bottom line, she was right.  Their friends with benefits arrangement was never going to last.  His maladjusted heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it for much longer.

The month and a half that led up to the wedding moved at warp speed.  Though they saved the date well in advance, it was still a bit of a challenge for Bellamy and Clarke, being before their May finals and after their March spring break.  The best they could arrange was to drive down early Thursday morning, help with last-minute preparations as much as they could leading up to the ceremony on Saturday, before having to drive back to Boston Sunday afternoon.  They wished they had more time with Octavia, but she knew how busy they both were in pursuit of their careers and was happy to take what she could get.

And so it was settled.  Everything had been planned to a T…until Clarke texted him the weekend before.

 **C:** Hey, I got some extra time off so I’m gonna fly down Tues night and try to be a dutiful MOH. My date hates long road trips anyway, so I figured it’d be easier this way. Sorry : (

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have said what he said next, but having one too many beers with Wick earlier that night was rather emboldening.

 **B:** Since when did you have a +1 for the wedding?

 **C:** Since Niylah offered to tag along.

 **B:** That chick from last spring? Didn’t know you guys were back together.

 **C:** Didn’t know you cared…

That was rich, coming from _her_ of all people.

 **B:** Well, have fun with that.

But the conversation didn’t end there, because a few seconds later his phone rang.

“Yeah,” he answered, aloof and preoccupied with perusing the contents of his fridge for a midnight snack.

“What’s with the fucking hostile attitude?  Are you drunk?”

He shrugged, though no one was there to see it.  “Wick told me it was $10 pitcher night at The Corner Pub.  Can’t miss out on a deal like that.”

“And where was my invite?”

Lacking the energy to cook or even make a sandwich at this point, he grabbed the milk and placed it on the counter.  He was then presented with another dilemma: Apple Jacks or Corn Pops?  “You don’t like beer.  Plus, it was kind of a guys’ night out thing.  You understand.”  Apple Jacks.  Definitely Apple Jacks.

The other end of the line grew quiet, and for a moment he thought the connection might’ve been lost.  “Bell, what’s wrong?”  Fat chance of that happening.  “You don’t normally talk to me this way.  And it sounds like you’re making cereal, which, as a rule, you only eat in the morning so I’m starting to worry that something happened.  Wait.  Did you and Bree break up?”

“You really need to stop psychoanalyzing me with your weird observations,” Bellamy said in reply as he tried to locate a clean spoon.  “My random craving for cereal doesn’t mean anything except for the fact that I’m hungry and I want Apple Jacks!”  No clean spoons to be found, he grabbed some soap and washed one by hand before heading over to the couch with his cereal bowl in hand.  “But, since you brought it up, I suppose I could tell you that Bree and I have mutually decided it was best to end things when she told me last week that she didn’t want to see me anymore.” 

“Mutually, huh?” she countered, a telling tone in her voice.  She didn’t press him for more details—though he knew deep down that she wanted to—and instead played the role of concerned friend.  “You okay?”

A loaded question, especially since any honest answer had nothing to do with Bree.  “Of course.  You know me.  I’m Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows!  Seriously though, my heart wasn’t 100% in that relationship and I think she knew it.”

“Oh, really?”  She paused and he assumed that meant she was trying to choose her next words carefully.  “What was your heart doing instead?”

Okay, maybe she _wasn’t_ being all that careful since asking that question was akin to lighting a handful of matches and tossing them blindly.  “I’m not sure anymore.  It’s kind of got a mind of its own these days.”  That was a safe reply, right?  No subtle indication of his burgeoning desire for her to pick up on, right?

“So, does this mean you’re going to the wedding solo?”

“I guess it does,” he replied before shoving another spoonful of cereal in his mouth.

“Then, I guess I’ll see you there.  I’ll be the one in the eggplant purple dress and no underwear.”

He choked mid-swallow, but was thankful she didn’t hear him coughing hysterically as she already hung up.

 

 

Lincoln and Octavia were married on the riverfront of Stevenson Ridge.  It was an intimate affair, no more than 40 guests in attendance.  White folding chairs were lined up in neat little rows on either side of a petal-strewn walkway.  An exquisitely constructed arch (which looked like Harper’s handiwork) made of willow branches and gardenias stood on one end as Bellamy remained poised at the other, waiting to perform his solemn duty as the brother of the bride.

Octavia Blake—the innocent, fragile girl that he named in infancy as he held her close to his chest and promised to never leave her—walked towards him now as a strong and beautiful woman, ready to impart on this new journey in her life.  Though he knew this binding ceremony didn’t actually mean that he would be losing her to someone else, Bellamy couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing something—a part of himself, perhaps.  The part that learned what it was like to be responsible for another human being and had grown to cherish it wholeheartedly.

When it came time to ‘give his sister away’, he was surprised at how natural and easy it was: a gentle squeeze of her hand, a tender kiss on her cheek, and a respectful nod in Lincoln’s direction before stepping back to take his seat.  In truth, he had grown to like Lincoln as early as that summer in Europe, but the overprotective brother in him remained hard-pressed to truly believed that any man could ever be worthy of Octavia’s love—that is, up until he saw the way Lincoln looked at her as they walked down the aisle.

He knew that look well.  It was the look of a man unequivocally in love.

Out of habit (and, perhaps, an utter lack of self-control), Bellamy found himself glancing over at the woman next to Octavia, holding a large bouquet of flowers and looking like an absolute goddess in a flowing purple dress.  This whole ‘moving on’ thing was going to be rather difficult if she continued to dazzle him in outfits like _that_.  Honestly, sometimes it seemed like one look from her could cure any ailment he may have been suffering from.

And other times she seemed to be the cause, not the cure.  One look and suddenly love became swift and cruel in its pursuit of his already tender heart.

Even now, she was unknowingly twisting the knife as her eyes sought his, brimming with unshed tears and somehow instilling in him that same feeling of hope and devotion that he often felt in her presence.

God, he wished it was real and that he wasn’t so disillusioned by his own desires.  But, illusions aside, it was clear that not everyone was meant to get a happy ending like Lincoln and Octavia.

 _Octavia_.  The thought of her brought him out of his reverie.  The time to dwell on ‘what ifs’ involving Clarke were well in the past and had to remain there.   It was time, instead, to focus on the person he was really here for: his sister, Octavia.

He managed to make it through the ceremony somehow, because before he knew it the happy couple shared their first kiss as husband and wife and everyone was cheering and then the procession slowly took their leave to head toward the reception area on the far end of the ridge.

As a member of the primary wedding party, Bellamy was required to stay behind for pictures—which was conceivably his least favorite part of the entire evening.  He just hated how forced it all felt, standing in awkward poses by the river or under a blossoming tree, flashing smile after smile until his cheeks ached from the effort.

To make matters worse, Octavia made a special request for the photographer to get a few shots of him and Clarke together.  She probably thought she was being so clever, trying to play matchmaker like that.  If only she knew…

“Stop being such a tense Tony,” Clarke said through gritted teeth, linking arms with Bellamy and smiling brightly for the camera.  If the tie he was wearing wasn’t suffocating before, it certainly was now. “Just suck it up for a few more photos and then we can hit up the open bar, okay?”

The fact that Lincoln threw down the money for an open bar for the festivities was one of the few reasons he’d conceivably call him brother…someday.

But actually making it to the bar proved more difficult than he thought.   The reception area was encased by an oversized canopy with string lights and purple ribbons decorating the interior from post to post.  Once there, Bellamy was immediately greeted by Octavia’s boss, who wanted to exchange pleasantries and offer his congratulations (which, by the way, was a custom he never understood—seeing as _he_ wasn’t the one getting married here).  As soon as he found an excuse to abandon _that_ conversation, Lincoln’s mother threw him into a new one.  She was also, to his dismay, inclined to introduce him to half of Lincoln’s family tree.  Don’t misunderstand, the woman was sweet and he appreciated the effort in making him feel welcome but, seriously, there was a stout with his name on it less than ten feet away.

What felt like an eternity later, he reached the bartender and ordered his beer, showing his immense gratitude by throwing a few bucks in the tip jar.  His relief was cut short, however, as Clarke Griffin materialized before him, instantly swiping the drink from him and taking a healthy swig.  She grimaced, making her displeasure known.  “Ugh.  I don’t know how you drink this stuff.  It tastes like burnt toast.  Scratch that, it’s more like if you were to scrape the burned part of the toast into a cup of really low-grade coffee and just let it sit there for a few hours.”

Bellamy cocked an eyebrow.  “Keen detective work.  That’s actually the description on the label.”  His attempt to take the bottle back from her was a failed one.  “If you don’t like it, then why don’t you let someone drink it who actually does.”

In a rather coquettish mood, Clarke smirked up at him as she held the bottle securely between her breasts (prompting another adjustment of his constricting tie) and started to walk backward.  “If you want it, come and get it.”  She turned on her heels and made a dash for the exit, occasionally looking back to further entice him to follow.

Now, Bellamy could’ve made the smart decision for once and simply turned back to the bartender to ask for another beer, avoiding further complications to their relationship.  But Clarke was the spider and he was the fly, and having already spent so many years tangled in her web, it seemed almost impossible for him to escape.

And he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

He caught up with her down river, a good 50 feet away from the lively celebration, leaning against a rather large live oak tree.  Rewarding his obedience, Clarke held out the beer bottle for him to take.  As soon as he did, she grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him towards the other side of the tree trunk, carefully hidden from any wandering partygoers. 

“Have I told you yet how good you look in this suit?” she asked, voice downright husky and, fuck, he knew exactly what that look in her eyes meant.

Bellamy pressed the top of the bottle to his lips, tilting up until he had chugged a good portion of it.  He then forced himself to listen to his conscience—the good side, not the evil one that was already thinking about all the things he wanted to do to the blonde vixen pressed against him.  “Clarke, what are you doing?  In case you forgot, we’re at Octavia’s wedding right now.  This can’t happen.”

Only, she wasn’t satisfied with that.  “Oh, come on,” she practically begged, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.  “Considering all the kinky places we’ve done it before, you honestly expect me to believe you haven’t thought about fucking me behind this tree?  Somehow, I don’t buy that.  I saw you checking me out in this dress.”

“Clarke—”

Any lame excuse he might’ve given her was swiftly muffled as her lips crashed into his.  God, he missed those lips.  In reality, it had been less than two months since the last time they found comfort in each other’s arms, but in his mind this kiss felt like a rainstorm after an eternity living in a drought.  He may have let the beer bottle slip from his hand and collide with the earth below.  He may also have opened his mouth ever so slightly in response, hand gently curving against her hip to steady himself.

But something deep within him suddenly refused to let things escalate further.

Darting sideways, Bellamy managed to escape her eager grasp, moving back several paces to maintain his distance from her.  “I mean it, Clarke!  This can’t happen!  I…I can’t do this anymore.”

Temporary shock subsiding, Clarke folded her arms protectively across her chest and looked out at the steadily flowing river.  “I’m sorry if I’ve somehow offended you by flaunting my womanly wiles.  I guess I just thought you’d be into it since Bree’s out of the picture and we worked well before—”

“Worked well before?” Bellamy repeated.  This put him over the edge, and though Clarke’s actions weren’t entirely to blame, she ended up being the unwitting scapegoat for his admonition.  “You really believe that?  Because I feel like ever since I concocted that stupid friends with benefits idea we’ve become way less honest with each other than we used to be.  This whole thing has just gotten way more fucked up than I ever thought it would.  I mean, Octavia doesn’t even know that we were sleeping together for nearly a year, and now you want to get ‘reacquainted’ at her wedding—a wedding which, by the way, you brought a date to!”

“You think I don’t know that this is fucked up?” she asked, eyes glistening with unshed tears.  “I know that I have issues and I know that you have been more patient with me than anyone should ever have to be.  But I’m trying, okay?  I’ve _been_ trying, what with all the self-help books and the journaling and, occasionally, even yoga.  But you’re not innocent in all this.  You’re the one who put an end to things because you found someone new, but that somehow hasn’t stopped you from staring at me like it’s the first time whenever we’re in the same room.  I’m not blind, Bellamy!  You’re attracted to me and I’m attracted to you but for some fucking reason we can’t make this work!”

They both sat on her words for a moment, words that spoke volumes as to what their lives had become.  In the silence, Bellamy focused on the sounds around him—the thumping music emanating from the canopy, the rustle of leaves as the gentle breeze swept over them, and the birds chirping at each other in greeting or in cordial goodnight.  Everything around him was alive, and yet the small space between him and Clarke felt cold and isolating.    

Her point was a valid one.  Why couldn’t they make it work?  What was stopping them from just diving in and finding out if the fantasy could, in fact, be reality?

Too consumed by his own overwhelming thoughts, Bellamy didn’t get a chance to respond, because Clarke grew tired of waiting.

She sniffed, bringing her hand up to dry her eyes.  “You know, that was oddly liberating, actually saying those words out loud.  But I think I’m hurting a little too much to be around you right now, so I’m gonna go, and I’m gonna put a smile on for my best friend, and I’m gonna dance and laugh with the people that make me happy…and I really hope someday you could be one of those people again.”

Bellamy took a step forward just as quickly as Clarke fled, but it was too late.  She was gone and he was left alone, in the dark, wondering how he went from being her savior to the one that broke her heart.

 


	23. It's the Way That You Know What I Thought I Knew

**April 2010 – The Wedding (continued)**

After a quick makeup check to fix her mascara and remove the tear stains from her cheeks, Clarke rejoined the reception shortly before their first dance as husband and wife.  They swayed from side to side, in tune with the music, but mostly each other.  As the rhythmic tones of Stevie Wonder’s voice began to build, Lincoln brazenly spun Octavia around, inciting a laugh from her as she gripped his hand tighter.  From the back of the canopy Clarke watched the couple gaze and smile at each other affectionately, and all at once her heart felt ready to burst with too much feeling. 

She remembered how quickly choosing their song became one of the more difficult tasks leading up to the wedding.  Calls from both Octavia and Lincoln occurred daily as they begged Clarke to weigh in on their selections.  He wanted “She” by Elvis Costello, but the song made Octavia feel like he was putting her on a pedestal.  She wanted “This I Promise You” by NSYNC, to which Lincoln expressed his deepest gratitude after Clarke managed to talk her out of it.  In the end, it was a casual trip to the grocery store that made the decision for them.  Amidst their tireless search for key lime pie yogurt, “For Once in My Life” by Stevie Wonder started to play on the store’s PA system and suddenly they were bobbing their heads and simultaneously declaring their love for the song.  Recounting this story to Clarke over the phone, Octavia couldn’t help but gush at how kismet it all was. 

_“When I realized he said that he loved it too, I just looked at him and he looked at me and without saying a word we both just knew that this was the song we were going to dance to at our wedding,” she exclaimed excitedly.  “And then we started full on making out in the cheese and yogurt aisle.  It was like a fairytale.”_

The song really did encapsulate them as a couple.  It wasn’t overly sappy, but lively and honest, admitting to everyone in attendance that their lives finally had meaning the moment they found each other.  _For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of, long before I knew._   As Clarke listened to the words this time around, she recognized the cruel irony surrounding her own love life.

Essentially, Bellamy had become the personification of what her heart dreamed of, the one who could bring her back from the darkness she habitually locked herself away in.  But then she had to go and destroy any chance of that happening…or maybe he did.  God, she couldn’t keep track anymore.  The universe was just one giant cockblock and they were its unwilling victims.

Not to say, of course, that that was just about the sex.  Shit.  Was that why he looked so…despondent?  She was still mad at Bellamy for the way he handled their previous confrontation, but maybe she was willing to take some of the blame.  Okay, a lot of the blame.  Looking from the outside in, it seemed so pathetic now, throwing herself at him like that.  And at his only sister’s wedding of all places!  In truth, she wasn’t as mad as she was embarrassed by her own reckless behavior.

Clarke needed to clear her head and think about what she wanted (no, needed) to say to Bellamy.  Giving herself some much needed space, she remained rooted to the spot in her isolated corner, ready to dodge potential advances from _any_ unwanted parties.  But as she kept a careful lookout for Bellamy, eyes darting from every guest within her vicinity, she didn’t hear the song end, nor the approaching footsteps of a beautiful woman dressed in white…well, off-white.  Let’s go with ivory.

“What’s wrong?” 

Now, this was probably around the moment when Clarke realized how obnoxious it was to have a best friend that knows you so well because, with them, you _can’t_ just put on a fake smile and go about your business.  They won’t let you.

“Nothing,” Clarke lied through her teeth.  “You guys looked great out there, by the way.  Lincoln’s got some pretty smooth moves and you look like Greta Garbo or Rita Hayworth.”

“Was Garbo the one who detested Hollywood and lived off cigarettes and whiskey?” Octavia asked, gripping her chin and lost in contemplation.  “Cuz if that’s the case, I’ll allow that comparison.”

Clarke winced.  “She also left someone at the altar and never married.  And I think she became a bit of a recluse the last few years of her life.  You still want to stick with that?”

Octavia’s headstrong nature gave way as she planted her hands on her hips.  “Okay, stop detracting from what’s really bothering you.  We both know that your expertise on Hollywood starlets is because, like me, Bell made you religiously watch movies on TCM.  Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, which means something’s—wait.  Is this about _him_?”

“About who?” Clarke asked, knowing full well the ‘him’ Octavia was referring to.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Clarke.”  She pulled her friend further into the corner of the canopy, away from prying ears.  “I know.  At least, I think I do.  I kind of detected that something was cooking between you two at the dress shop, but when neither of you shared it with me, I figured it was because you were still testing the waters and didn’t want to jinx whatever it was just yet.  I’ll admit, I was a little hurt at being left out, but then when we Skyped for our annual Academy Awards commentary session…I don’t know, apart from the entire box of wine you downed, you acted _different_.  I assumed things didn’t go as planned with Bell considering you two don’t seem to be ‘together’ together.”

There was a part of Clarke that was always hesitant to tell Octavia how she really felt about her brother, and she was even more fearful to tell her that something had now actually happened between them.  But there was another part, a part that lived in a frozen tundra deep in her chest, that was utterly relieved and ready to thaw out.  After nearly a year of keeping secrets—more like five years, if she was really being honest with herself—Clarke now felt compelled to unburden herself to Octavia and treat her like the best friend she was always meant to be.

“We’re not together,” Clarke said, needing to clarify that point first and foremost.  “Things between us definitely _escalated_ , as you observed.  We hooked up for a while—a lot, actually.  It was almost unhealthy how often we were—you know, never mind about the details.”  Obviously, she didn’t need to know that.  Being graphic wasn’t necessary for her to just be honest.  “Okay, full disclosure: I‘ve had a crush on Bellamy since the moment I saw him, when I was 14 years old.  I was young and impressionable, and holy hell did he make an impression on me.  But with the age difference and everything, I knew nothing would come of it.  And then I got older and he started talking to me but, I don’t know, it was still hard to get the fantasy of him out of my head.  It never actually felt like it could be real.”

“But you love him?” Octavia then said, which wasn’t quite a question, but an affirmation of something they both already knew.

Clarke let out a shattered chuckle.  “More like I’m so stupidly in love with him that it causes me physical pain when we’re not together or, at the very least, talking.”

“Which I assume takes us up to now and the whole ‘I’m fine, but I’m really not fine’ smile on your face.  So, what did he do this time?”

“It’s not what he did,” Clarke replied, which was true.  Again, she really didn’t blame him for lashing out at her earlier this evening.  When was that: a few minutes ago?  An hour ago?  Time seemed to pass of its own accord now.  “It’s what he _didn’t_ do.  I think—I think after all the obstacles thrown our way, he’s finally giving up on us.  I’m not sure we can come back from this.”

Octavia gave Clarke’s words some thought and, for reasons unknown, decided she needed some liquid courage, scurrying toward the nearest table to snatch what looked to be an untouched flute of champagne.  Except, it wasn’t for her.

“Clarke,” she said sweetly, thrusting the proffered glass into Clarke’s hand, “you know I love you like a sister and I think that you’re fierce and brilliant—I mean, you’re gonna be a fucking doctor in a few years!  Considering the shitty hand life has dealt you, I’d say you have more than proved that you can (and will) jump back from anything.  Now chug that champagne for me quickly ‘cause here’s where my tough love comes in.”

Doing as instructed, Clarke’s trepidation climbed as she considered what Octavia would say next.

“Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?” Octavia’s lecture then commenced, which she emphasized by making a checklist with her fingers.  “You first bonded with my brother on a 7-hour road trip almost five years ago.  You then started talking on the phone to each other more than either of you talked to me…and I was still living with him at the time.  He drove out to Boston to see you on numerous occasions before finally just moving out there to be with you.  I’m gonna count that as two things.  But then you didn’t get together, did you?  No.  Instead, you unnecessarily friend-zoned each other until the sexual tension became so great that you started boning without defining what that meant.  Let me ask you this, have you or Bellamy ever actually said the words ‘Hey, I’m kind of in love with you, wanna maybe go on a date?’”

The almond-flavored champagne was making Clarke’s throat dry—or maybe it was the ‘tough love’ her best friend carried out.  Either way, it was suddenly rather difficult for her to speak.  “Um, well, no.  Not actually, but—”

“Then your previous assumption is invalid,” she interjected, very firm in her analysis.  “This is no longer about the two of you ‘coming back from this’.  Your relationship has now reached uncharted territory and, I’m sorry to say this, but it’s time you fucking do something about it.  _You_ want it to happen, I’m pretty sure _Bell_ wants it to happen, and, at this point, I _need_ it to happen for the sake of my sanity so I don’t have to deal with either of your moping asses anymore.  So, what do you say?  Are you ready to start a new chapter in your life?”

It was admittedly strange, the bride being the one that gave Clarke a pep talk.  And perhaps she was right—except Bellamy was more than just a chapter.  He first appeared as a background character, a mere blip on the radar screen, but then wormed his way onto the pages and into her heart, eventually becoming a central character to the story of her life.  His presence was vital for her to grow and evolve into the protagonist her story depended on.

And that story was far from being over.

“If I must,” Clarke grudgingly replied, and though she threw her hands up in defeat, the butterflies in her stomach swarmed at the mere anticipation of confronting Bellamy once and for all.  “Consider this terrifying act of bravery my wedding gift to you.”

Octavia folded her arms across her chest and gave Clarke a pointedly stare.  “Nice try.  There better be a present on that table from you.  You’re practically the only one I can rely on to not give me kitchen supplies that I will likely never use.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” Clarke said—which, in essence, was her own way of saying ‘I love you’—before rushing forward to hug her friend.  “And thanks for the oddly therapeutic advice in the middle of your wedding reception.  That bottle of Grey Goose I got you now seems like a pale representation of how much you mean to me.  Maybe I’ll order you a set of steak knives to make up for it.”

Forcefully ignoring Clarke’s cheeky remark, Octavia focused on the other part of her statement, her eyes widening with intrigue as she clutched at her heart.  “You got me top shelf vodka as a wedding present?  You really do know me.”  She shouted over her shoulder so Lincoln, who was only a couple of tables away, could hear her.  “Babe, grab some cups and tonic!  We’re getting classy crunk tonight!”

Clarke promised to join in on the festivities as soon as she found Niylah because, yes, for a moment she forgot she brought a date to this function.  Dressed in a form-fitting sky blue dress, the woman in question was still seated at the table Clarke left her at, sipping leisurely on a glass of red wine.  “Hey, so sorry I stepped away for so long.  It was a, uh, bridal crisis.  All fixed now.  Did you meet any interesting characters yet?  Weddings are usually chock full of those.”

Niylah shrugged.  “No creepy uncles trying to hit on me, if that’s what you’re asking.  I did get one kid tell me that he liked my necklace, but I don’t think it was actually a ploy to stare at my tits.  I think he genuinely liked it.  If he makes me an offer for it later, I may be willing to compromise.”

Clarke’s eyes trailed down to the violet teardrop pendant that rested against her chest.  “It is a beautiful necklace.”

“See, now I can’t tell if you meant that or if you’re just staring at my tits,” she whispered, leaning in and smirking seductively.

If this happened an hour ago, Clarke might’ve played along.  Flirting was something she sort of mastered over the years and, at times, it was rather fun.  It had certainly been fun with Niylah.  Things had always remained casual between them, and it seemed to be something they mutually agreed on.  But she wondered now if asking Niylah to be her date to her best friend’s wedding consequently implied more than she was willing to bargain.  She really hoped that wasn’t the case.  Clarke had already hurt too many people along the way.

And breaking up with someone at a wedding was not what one might consider par for the course.

Still pondering how she wished to respond to Niylah’s flirtations, Clarke hardly noticed that someone else was now at their table.

“Hey,” he said; his words calm and succinct.  “Can we talk?”  The velvety timber of his voice sent a shiver up her spine.  How he still had that effect on her was a feat in itself.

Mirroring his cool composure, Clarke met his gaze and flashed her best detached smile.  “Oh, hey, Bell.  Now’s not really the best time.  I’ve already neglected my date for too long.  We’ll talk later, okay?”

But he wasn’t taking the hint.  “You promised me a dance, remember?”

Clarke, however, had no recollection of making such a promise.  This was obviously an excuse to get her alone so they could talk, but she wasn’t ready for that just yet.  There was unfinished business to take care of first.

Niylah intervened before Clarke could blow him off again.  “Go ahead.  I know you guys go way back.  I’ll just go see a kid about a necklace.”  She winked and then made a swift exit.

Bellamy extended his hand, waiting patiently for her to take it.  She knew she didn’t have to, knew that she could walk away and he would leave her alone for the rest of the evening if that was what she really wanted.

But she didn’t want that, and perhaps a part of him already knew that.

Her hand found his and just as quickly Bellamy was gently pulling her toward the dance floor.  The last few chords of Frank Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” played as a handful of couples spun and dipped around them.

“I know there’s a lot to be said,” Clarke voiced, wanting to clear the air.  He turned to face her, placing one hand on her hip as the other slotted with her own.  Her eyes remained downcast, fearful of what she might find in his expression.  “But I kind of just want to dance and not have to worry about talking right now, okay?”

“I can respect that,” was all that he said.  She practically felt his gaze on her, felt the breath of his words against her forehead and it honestly took everything in her not to close her eyes and simply melt into him.

Frank Sinatra faded out and a new song began.  Under normal circumstances, the song that played next was one she could recognize within the first three notes.  It took a little longer this time.  Perhaps she was distracted by fingers softly grazing her hip, or maybe it was the amount of energy she used to try to focus on anything but Bellamy Blake.  Her emotions were jumbling from her head to her heart and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to think, let alone feel. 

But then the music infiltrated her mind and all at once she heard the quartet of string instruments harmoniously in tune with the French horns and…sleigh bells?  Aside from your average Christmas carol, there was only one song Clarke knew that utlized such an instrument.

Her eyes found his just as Carl Wilson’s voice filled the loudspeaker.  _I may not always love you, but as long as there are stars above you…_

Her song.  It was her song.  The one her dad used to sing to her every night while tucking her in bed.  The one she played on repeat when she was shipped off to her aunt’s house in Florida following her father’s death.  The one Bellamy included on that CD he made for her 20th birthday, already knowing how special it was to her.  A thousand memories of her father and of Bellamy simultaneously flooded her brain, connecting like lights on a circuit board, all culminating toward this profoundly beautiful moment.

… _You never need to doubt it.  I’ll make you so sure about it._

His lips barely moved, but Clarke knew what he was attempting to do.  _God only knows what I’d be without you._   He wasn’t just mouthing the words to the song.  He was trying to communicate without even saying a word.  And this wasn’t just _her_ song…it was Bellamy’s love letter to Clarke.

Her mouth slackened and the waterworks appeared before she could stop them, tears falling deliberately down her cheeks.  After fighting so hard to avoid his gaze, now that their eyes had locked onto one another, she couldn’t look away—like a trance, an enchanting, dream-like trance.

“Did…”  Clarke stuttered on her words, sucking in a lungful of air to regain a semblance of self-control.  “Did you pick this song?”

He released his hold on her hand to swipe the pad of his thumb across her cheek.  “I hardly gave this song a second thought before you.  It must’ve stuck with me.”

 _You stuck with me_ , she thought, wondering if he had been simultaneously thinking the same.  Her smile was watery, but perhaps the first genuine one she had shown all evening.  He brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, and then his hand sort of stayed there, cupping her cheek and giving her the sense that he never wanted to let go. 

She hoped to god he wouldn’t, gripping his wrist to keep him there and, perhaps, to steady herself a bit. 

“We’re gonna be okay, right?”  Clarke was hopeful of his answer, but that didn’t prevent her worry from gnawing at the seams.  “I know it feels like we hurt each other more than we help each other, but you know I’m a work in progress and I really am trying here.”

“I know,” Bellamy said without hesitation, flashing his signature smirk. “I believe you mentioned something about self-help books?” 

Clarke finally broke their gaze, head ducking in mortification.   

“We’re gonna be okay,” he then assured her.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

An enormous weight miraculously lifted, a weight Clarke hardly knew she was capable of carrying in the first place.  She felt lighter now and perhaps a little tired, so she took comfort in Bellamy’s arms, leaning in to rest her cheek against his chest.  He welcomed the gesture, moving his hand to the back of her neck to solidify their hold on one another.  They remained in that position for the remainder of the song, closing their eyes and living in that moment The Beach Boys provided them.

It was perfect.  It was providential.  It was something she could see herself repeating even when they’re old and grey.

No sooner had the song ended did Clarke excuse herself to search for her date.  Bellamy looked a little more than perplexed but she promised to explain it to him later.  It was time for her to stop prolonging the inevitable.  Niylah was standing over by the bar getting a refill.  “Hey, I’m glad I found you.  Can we talk?”

She tipped the bartender and took a swig of her wine before addressing Clarke.  “You know, those are the same words Bellamy said to you before he whisked you away to the dancefloor.  That was quite a show you guys put on.  I think you gave the bride and groom a run for their money.”

Guilt consumed Clarke and her cheeks flushed at the thought of everyone watching that intimate moment between her and Bellamy.  “Niylah, I’m…I’m so sorry.  I wasn’t expecting this night to go this way.”  Not expecting, but hoping, perhaps.

“It’s okay,” Niylah said, a little disappointed but clearly not heartbroken.  “We had some fun times, you and I, but I know when to bow out gracefully.  At least we can part ways as friends, right?  I envy what you have.  Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to have that someday.”

Clarke placed her hand on Niylah’s shoulder in a friendly, comforting gesture.  “I’m no prophet, but I’d say there’s a very good chance of that happening.”

“And on that note, I think I’m gonna call it a night, see if there’s an earlier flight to Boston I can take.”  Niylah took a few more sips of her wine before setting back on the bar top.  “Were you coming back to the hotel or did you want more time with him?”  She nodded in the direction of Bellamy, who kept glancing over at them nervously.

“Actually,” Clarke said, emboldened by the way this evening had turned out, “there’s something else I have to do.  I’ll pack up tomorrow morning.  Oh, and Niylah?  Thanks for understanding.”

After Niylah left, Octavia unexpectedly swooped in from behind, hugging Clarke’s waist as she whispered in her ear.  “As soon as I get back from my honeymoon, you better be prepared to give me a full report on what the fuck happened tonight.”

Clarke felt a warmth rise in her cheeks as she grinned from ear to ear.  “I promise.”  She shifted around so they could hug each other properly.  “Don’t hate me, but as much as I’d love to get classy crunk with you, I have to go.  Breakfast tomorrow before I leave for Boston?”

Octavia pouted but acquiesced with a nod of her head.  “Breakfast—but not too early.  I fully plan on wearing my husband out tonight.”  She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“I suppose that’s payback for my previous overshare,” Clarke said, wincing slightly.  “I deserved that.”

Octavia ordered a round of beer before returning to the dancefloor with the remainder of her wedding party.  Seeing that Clarke was alone again, Bellamy reappeared.  “I, uh, saw Niylah leave just now.  Did you need a ride back to your hotel?”

Clarke shook her head.  “Take me home.”

To anyone else, her home was Boston, having now lived there for nearly five years.  But Bellamy must’ve picked up on her almost haunted tone, because he didn’t ask for further clarity before guiding her to his truck and taking the familiar streets towards Clarke’s childhood home.

Once they arrived outside the grand old house, she thanked him by planting a kiss on his cheek before walking out into the warm, night air.

It had been years since she last stepped foot here; the plants, the sidewalk, the columns all looked foreign somehow, yet she knew in her heart that nothing had changed.  Abigail Griffin was still using the same gardener, for all she knew.

Instead of ringing the doorbell and playing her part as a guest in this house, she turned the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked.  Surprised wasn’t the right word though, because somehow Clarke knew that her mother was still waiting for her to make her way back home.

Inside it was quiet but not unoccupied.  Soft voices could be heard in the distance and as Clarke’s feet carried her across the hall, she was able to verify that the voices were coming from the TV in the living room.  The lamp on the side table illuminated Abigail’s silhouette as she sat on the couch, eyes glued to the TV screen. 

It wasn’t, however, a television program or film that had her mother so riveted, but a home movie.  Through the static of the video footage, Clarke could see that she was about seven or eight years old.  She was searching for a green crayon as her father manned the video camera and asked her what she was drawing.

“I remember this,” Clarke said softly.  Abigail stiffened but, like anyone afraid of being tricked by an illusion, didn’t dare turn around to see if her daughter was really there.  “I was making a Mother’s Day gift for you.  I was drawing a picture of you in your scrubs but I couldn’t get the stethoscope right because it kept looking like a necklace.” 

Abigail visibly inhaled then exhaled slowly.  “It’s still in my room, you know.  It’s in a frame on my nightstand.”

With nothing between them but space and time—time to reflect and space to rediscover something long forgotten—Clarke hadn’t realized until now the memories this house still contained.  She no longer wished to focus on forgetting the darkness, and instead decided it was time to remember the light in her life—the things that made her smile and hope to make more happy memories in the future.

“Is it all right if I join you?” Clarke asked, reverting back to the manners she was taught in primary school.

Abigail had to glance up at that, a question in her eyes that had Clarke wondering if her mother even heard her right.  But the uncertainty soon faded into recognition and then contentment.  It wasn’t long before she was smiling, the threat of unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. 

“I would like that very much.”

Clarke nestled into the couch cushion beside her mother, a gesture that seemed so small yet spoke volumes on the kind of relationship they might once again have.


	24. Your Love is Bright As Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm terrible. No excuses. But you will be happy to know that this story will finally have an ending by chapter 26! How far we've come...
> 
> Anyway, I'm having trouble working out the kinks of the ending plot, so while I work on that here's a snippet of the adorable Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin on a date! ; )

**April 2010 – The Date**

 

Clarke finagled a way to extend her stay in Fredericksburg so she could spend a few more days with her mom.  Bellamy was thrilled that the two had reconciled and, though he was secretly even more thrilled by his own reconciliation with Clarke, he gave her all the space she needed until she came back to Boston.  Once she returned, however, he didn’t hesitate in calling her up to **_finally_** —for really there was never a more appropriate use of the word—ask her out on a date.

Considering the atypical progression of their relationship, going on a date seemed almost silly, but it was exactly what they needed.  It was a fresh start, a chance to rewind and start over so that, this time, they could get it right and put their feelings first.  _No boundaries._   Bellamy was excited for the opportunity to plan a fun, romantic date because, not to brag, this was sort of his field of expertise.  Relationships, however?  Not so much.  But he did know how to make a girl feel special and since Clarke was, in his humble opinion, one of the most extraordinary women on the planet, he was determined to make this night one for the books. 

Knowing that neither of them was fond of the overindulgent, uppercrust lifestyle, he nixed all notions of fancy restaurants—and pretty much anything involving a button-up shirt—and opted to take her, instead, to the Suffolk County Fair.  To some, a fair was likely one of the worst ideas for a first date, but he knew Clarke and knew that she would be ecstatic to go to a place that had bumper cars, hordes of artery-clogging food (really, for someone training to be a doctor, this woman had abysmal eating habits), and endless opportunities to just sit and people watch.

The embodiment of a perfect gentleman, Bellamy started the evening by driving to her apartment, ringing the intercom to signal his arrival, and commenting on how radiant she looked in that periwinkle blouse as he walked her to the car and opened the passenger door for her.

“Believe it or not, Bell,” she said as he settled into the driver’s side of his truck, “I am fully capable of opening a car door all by myself.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Believe it or not, Clarke, I was just trying to be chivalrous, not chauvinistic.  Tonight’s important and I don’t want it to feel like the countless other times we’ve hung out together, so I’m going to pull out all the stops such as, yes, opening doors for you, and maybe buying you a cotton candy that I’ll occasionally swipe pieces from.  Afterwards, I’ll win you a stuffed animal at the Ring Toss booth and end the night with a kiss on the top of the Ferris wheel.”

Her cheeks flushed as she smiled.  God, he loved that they could still flirt like this was something brand new and electrifying.  In essence, it was.

“Tonight’s important to me, too.”  She leaned in and kissed him.  It was soft and brief, and the way she licked her lips afterwards caused his nerve endings to explode like fireworks throughout his extremities.  “But who says we have to wait until the end of the night for that?”

Their night at the fair was magical, essentially following the pretty little picture Bellamy had painted—with a few minor adjustments.   Knowing his strategy ahead of time, Clarke cheekily refused to share her cotton candy with him, dodging his every attempt with the reflexes of a ninja.  Although, maybe it was less ninja-like and more sugar rush induced.  Also, that Ring Toss game was totally rigged because even after paying the booth worker four times, he _still_ couldn’t get that stupid ring over the post. 

Clarke got it on the first try.

“Here, babe,” she said with a wink as she handed him the lime green elephant.  “I won this for you.” 

They walked the fairgrounds hand-in-hand, occasionally stealing glances at one another and, yes, they got their kiss on the Ferris wheel…and on the carousel, and in between the woodworking and jam making booths, as well as a few other places that put the full extent of their relationship on display.

“You know,” she started, leaning into his side as they watched with fascination as a vender grilled there bacon-wrapped corn on the cob, “this is shaping up to be a really great date.  It might even prompt me to do something uncharacteristically girly, like call up my best friend later to rave about this boy I’m crushing on.”

“I’m sure Octavia would love that,” he replied, wondering if she could detect the sarcasm in his voice.

Sooner than he liked, it was time to take Clarke home, and though she insisted (neigh, begged) that he come inside for a ‘night cap’, Bellamy was very determined to remain the perfect gentleman all evening.  “May we might again.  How does Tuesday night sound?”

Clarke crinkled her nose in an attempt to stop herself from smiling too much.  It was painful how cute she was sometimes.  “I’ll pencil you in.”

As he walked through the door of his own apartment, his phone vibrated from his back pocket.  He took it out and smiled at the caller ID before answering.  “Hey.”

“So, I just went out with the most amazing guy…”

 


	25. What I Hear, No One Else Has to Know

**May 2010**

It was a bit of a culture shock when Bellamy realized that fairytale endings were not only possible, but that they were possible for him.  To put it plainly, Bellamy Blake was head over heels in love with Clarke Griffin and he was fairly certain she was with him (even though those three little words had yet to be spoken by either party).

This common knowledge, however, was not enough to convince them to run off to Niagara Falls and elope just yet.  The newness of their relationship coupled with other significant events happening in their lives—Bellamy graduating with a Bachelor’s in Architectural Design and Clarke preparing for the rigor of what she hoped would be her final year of medical school—sparked a much needed conversation in which they mutually agreed to take things slow.  

Now, graduating was a huge milestone, and Bellamy could certainly acknowledge that much, but the magnitude of it all didn’t really sink in until the day of the ceremony.  It was a small affair, maybe 200 in attendance.  The cap and gown he wore was emerald green and lacked any honorary adornments such as a pin or a sash, but Bellamy was fine with that.  He honestly just wanted to get it over with at this point.

He walked across the stage when his name was called, bright auditorium lights shining down as he shook the Dean’s hand and accepted the rolled-up piece of paper, and that was that.  As quickly as the moment begun it had ended.

Until he saw Clarke.

She greeted him in the lobby of the auditorium, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears of glowing pride as she reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers together upon contact.  “You looked handsome up there—and I don’t think I was the only one in the audience to notice.  You should probably kiss me right now so I can stake my claim on you in front of all these strangers.”

With a smile, he obliged her.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered against his cheek as they embraced in the middle of the crowded lobby.  “I can’t believe I got to witness your dreams literally come true.”

Little did she know that they actually started coming true on a seven-hour road trip to Boston five years ago.

They capped the night off with some ardent love-making—a term Bellamy had previously considered outdated and corny, but he saw merit in it now, unable to compare the sex he had with Clarke to anything else he’d ever experienced.  There was love there.  They both felt it as they moved as one, gazing into each other’s eyes and succumbing to the bursting desire of their bodies and their hearts.

Okay, it still sounded pretty corny, but, honestly, he didn’t care.  It was perfect. 

They were perfect.

And then her mother arrived.

The thing is, Bellamy wasn’t an idiot.  He knew Abigail wasn’t his biggest fan, but he decided to be a grown up and not to take it personally.  After all, Clarke’s stories about the woman made it pretty clear that she never really approved of any of the people Clarke dated.  It came with the territory, he supposed, taking on the role of both mother and father to an only child.

Spirited by the prospect of having her daughter back in her life, Abigail decided that now was the perfect opportunity for her to take a month-long sabbatical to spend some quality time with Clarke in Boston.  They were happy and he was happy for them (he _really_ was)…even if that meant abstaining from sex (at Clarke’s apartment, at least).  Seriously, he wasn’t even comfortable just sleeping over there knowing that her mother would be on the pullout couch in the living room, silently judging the immorality of their relationship or something or other.  The one plus side was that abstinence made Clarke super hot and bothered, to the point where she eventually made him park somewhere after one of their (now infrequent) date nights and they did it in his car like a couple of heady teenagers.  It was wanton and it was reckless and if he wasn’t already in love with her he’d surely be smitten now.

But the occasional quickie in the park wasn’t why Bellamy had tolerated Dr. Griffin’s presence.  He did it because he knew how much it meant to Clarke, having her mother back in her life again.  Hell, he even treated them both to dinner at a four-star restaurant one night in show of support for their reunion, but her clipped tone was reminiscent of that first Thanksgiving, so he stopped trying so hard and simply left the mother-daughter pair to their own devices.

Sometime in late May, Bellamy received some exciting news that he was very eager to share with Clarke—and Clarke alone.  News like this deserved a certain amount of fanfare, so he picked the night he knew Dr. Griffin was meeting an old colleague for drinks and told Clarke to come over because he wanted to make her dinner.  She knew something was up but Bellamy refused to give away any details ahead of time, even playfully emphasizing the ‘making’ aspect of this dinner, ensuring her that no discarded takeout bags from Alfredo’s or any other restaurant would be discovered in his apartment.  She rolled her eyes at his flagrant mockery.

The day of, he stopped at the grocery store to grab all the ingredients for the chicken adobo dish his mom used to make him and then dashed home to start the prep work before her arrival.

Someone was at his doorstep when he returned, only it wasn’t the person he expected (or hoped) to see.

“Uh, hi Mrs.—I mean Dr. Griffin.”

Seeing that he was in a relationship with her daughter, this was usually the part in the story where she would say something like, “Oh, please call me Abigail.”

But that didn’t happen.  Instead, she glanced at her phone—which he was pretty sure was the new iPhone 4 (not scheduled to be released for another month) but he thought it wise not to question it—and disregarded his arrival completely.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he then prompted.

‘Yes,” she replied curtly, typing out a message before tucking the device into her purse, “but let’s not discuss this on the street and in the glaring sunlight.  Why don’t you invite me in so I can explain my presence further.”  It wasn’t a question—more like an accusation for not having suggested it himself.

Bellamy juggled the grocery bags in his arms to fish for his key in the back pocket of his pants.  After this was achieved, he opened the door and stood to the side to let her in.

“I don’t wish to take up too much of your time,” she said, cutting to the chase as she repositioned her designer sunglasses to rest atop her head.  “I know my daughter will be arriving shortly and there’s really no reason for her to know about my unannounced visit.”

She hit the nail on the head with the whole ‘unannounced’ part.  The more this woman talked, the more vexed he became over what she had to say.  As if this conversation wasn’t awkward enough, Bellamy let a wisecrack slip—more out of nervousness than anything else.  “Is this where you ask what my intentions are with Clarke?  If so, I think you’re a little late to the game.”

Abigail, however, was quick to counter.  “I think I have a vague idea of those intentions, Mr. Blake.  So, answer me this: have you accepted that internship in Seattle yet?”

 _What the fuck?_ How did she know about that?  More importantly, did Clarke know?  This was getting to be a little too ‘Agent Smith’ for him.  Then again, he remembered something about a background check she did on Clarke’s previous boyfriend, Finn, so perhaps this wasn’t atypical knowledge for her to have in her arsenal.

“Um…well, the thing is,” he started, fretfully fumbling over his words like a ten-year old forced to do a speech in front of his entire class.  “I mean, I wouldn’t exactly call it an internship or anything but, well, no.  I’m waiting on, um, a few things before I officially sign off on it.”

“Waiting on what?  On Clarke?”  He didn’t need to reply.  They both already knew the answer.  “Tell me, why should that matter?”

At this, Bellamy’s nerves began to ebb, unwilling to let this woman get the best of him.  “Because she’s my girlfriend and any life-altering decision that needs to be made is one we make together.”

“You make ‘life-altering decisions’ together after only being in a relationship for a month?” she probed, setting her purse down and giving him a pointed stare.  This was starting to feel less like a conversation between acquaintances and more like a cross examination.  If she wasn’t a doctor she’d probably make a damn good lawyer.

But Bellamy stood his ground.  “Well, it helps that we’ve also played a significant role in each other’s lives for the last five years.  You may be her mother, but I wager that I know Clarke a hell of a lot better than you.”  Okay, that dig was probably unnecessary, but the brazen woman was really starting to get under his skin.  Perhaps this was her objective all along.

Her lips curved up into a self-assured smile.  “And by that I assume you mean that you know exactly how she’s going to react to the news of your internship?  Are you really so naïve that you honestly think she would just drop her life here to fly out to Seattle with you?”

“It’s not an internship,” he gritted through his teeth, irked by the way she managed to degrade every aspect of his life, including a job opportunity that he was initially so excited about.  “And it’s not like I said yes yet or assumed that she’d come with me if I did.  Don’t put words in my mouth.”  _Leading the witness!  That was leading the witness, right_?  Where was a lawyer when he needed one?

“I can tell by that pulsing vein in your neck that I’m not your favorite person right now,” she started, unaffected by the anger he was no longer able to hide, “and though you probably don’t want my opinion, I’m going to give it anyway.  Take the job.  Go to Seattle.  It’s a fine company and will open many doors for you.  But don’t expect my daughter to follow.  She has her own future to focus on—a future that’s already so promising she could be running her own surgical practice in five, maybe ten years.  If she goes with you, deferring her dream of being a doctor, she’ll tell herself that she made the right choice, but it’ll eventually eat away at her and she may even come to resent you for it.  Relationships come and go, especially for two people so young as yourselves.  You’ll both move on eventually and be happier for it.  You’ll see.”

His blood really began to boil now, rising to the brim and spilling over the edge.  The worst part about this whole encounter was not the fact that Dr. Griffin actually had the stones to say these words to him, but that a tiny fraction of himself—way in the recesses of his mind—began to believe her.  It was stupid to believe that Clarke would have to put her medical degree on hold if they both went to Seattle.  There were medical schools in Seattle, right?  People move all the time and can easily pick up where they left off, right?   

But what if it doesn’t go as smoothly as they both hoped?  What if she can’t establish herself as well in Seattle as she did here?  Boston was no picnic either.  He knew all the hard work she put into establishing connections and gaining a residency at one of the local hospitals.  In a new state, she’d have to do that all over again, and if it doesn’t happen the way she wants it to…who knows.  Maybe she _would_ resent her decision to go with him.

Bellamy drew in a long breath, nostrils flaring, and made his best attempt to exhale slowly.  Fuck Abigail Griffin and her ‘holier than thou’ logic.  She had planted a seed—a seed that took root and would eventually consume all that remained of him—and he was powerless to remove it.

He was about to tell her to leave when the good doctor beat him to the punch.  “I’m afraid I must go now, but I trust you’ll make the right decision, Mr. Blake.  I really do wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.”

She saw herself out, leaving a shell-shocked Bellamy in her wake.

 

 

The time between Abigail leaving and Clarke arriving felt like an eternity.  He had too much time to think.  Thinking was bad.  Thinking took him from repressing to wondering to fearing so quickly that he couldn’t escape this dark and ominous rabbit hole that he was tumbling down.  And he didn’t fall.  He was definitely pushed.

His thoughts quietly whispered the same mantra over and over again.  _You’re going to lose her._   It was subtle, subliminal.  _You’re going to lose her._   The more he thought it, the more authority these words were given.  _You’re going to lose her._

Clarke used her spare key to let herself into Bellamy’s apartment, causing him to involuntarily stiffen.  Though the time lapse was agonizingly long, he wasn’t ready for her arrival.  The narrative had changed and Bellamy found himself at a complete and utter loss for words.  Should he tell her about her mother’s visit and the incumbent war she decided to wage on him?  Should he act as if everything was fine and share his news with a smile, hoping for the right outcome?  Would there even be a right outcome at this juncture?

“Good god, Bell!” she said by way of greeting.  “That smells amazing!”  She saddled up behind him, arms slithering around his waist as she peered around him to get a peek at what he was cooking.  “And what, pray tell, does our architect/gourmet chef have in store for us tonight?”

He was stirring the simmering food absentmindedly and eventually willed himself to reply.  “Chicken Adobo.”

“Adobo?  Don’t know if I’ve ever had that, but it sounds fancy which means I am thoroughly intrigued.  Also, starving—like ‘eat a horse’ starving.  After the day I’ve had, this food will be a godsend.”

It was surely nothing compared to the day _he_ had.

For fear of saying too much, Bellamy chose to remain relatively quiet during dinner as Clarke vented about her hectic shift at the hospital followed by a boring seminar that her mother dragged her to about “innovations in cell bio research and how a non-enveloped virus penetrates a biological membrane to cause infection.”  Apparently, the seminar was located in one of Harvard’s auditoriums so her mother made her walk around the campus afterward, commenting on how she could’ve received her education here instead of BU.

In response, he would raise his eyebrows or nod, occasionally giving her a one-word answer when it seemed like she was eager for his input.

There was a lull in conversation as Clarke fiddled with the label on her beer bottle.  “So, are you gonna tell me what’s up or just continue with this grumpy old man routine?” she eventually asked.  Over time, she had grown more comfortable calling him out on his bullshit.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but the moment the words left his lips he knew she wouldn’t be convinced. 

Clarke leaned back in her chair, a move that was akin to gluing her feet to the floor.  She wasn’t going anywhere until Bellamy got whatever he was thinking off his chest. “Aside from the fact that I can read your moods better than your own sister, I’m pretty sure an impartial passerby could detect that you’re pissed about something—which is weird because I was under the impression that you invited me over because you had _good_ news.”

Well, he had to tell her at some point so he supposed it was time to rip off the Band-Aid.  “The good news is that I, uh, got a surprising call a few days ago.  I’ve been commissioned to act as a junior architect with Degen & Degen Architecture & Interior Design.  It’s a six-month project but, pending my performance, I could eventually seek a more permanent position there.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up in wonder, her posture visibly relaxing.  “Bell!  That’s freaking fantastic!  You graduated two weeks ago and you already have a job lined up?”

“I had several, actually,” he clarified, “but this was the only one with a prominent firm attached to it.” 

“It looks like all your hard work is finally paying off.  Oh my gosh, tell me everything!  What kind of building is it?  A house?  A strip mall?  One of those swanky skyscrapers?”

That enthusiasm of hers might not last much longer.  “It’s for a library…in Seattle.”

He watched as gravity seemed to slowly pull the corners of her mouth down.  “There doesn’t happen to be a small town in Massachusetts called Seattle, huh?  You’re talking about Washington.”

Here’s the thing:  Bellamy was still infuriated by his previous conversation with Dr. Griffin and was inclined to tell Clarke about it in hopes of venting his frustrations so she could share the burden with him.  But the look on her face as she realized that this ‘freaking fantastic’ job places him all the way across the country was so heartbreaking that soon all he felt was guilt.

_You don’t have to lose her._

Bellamy let out a long breath before setting down his fork and scooting his chair closer to Clarke so he could take her hand.  “Come with me.”

This brought her out of the fog.  “What?”

“I’m serious,” he said, squeezing her fingers to emphasize the full extent of his emotions.  “It’s just for six months.  We can share a condo and if things don’t work out there, we could always come back to Boston.”  It wasn’t that far-fetched, right?  They _could_ do it.

Clarke released herself from his hold so she could cradle his face in her hands.  “Bell, as romantic as that notion sounds, I’ve got school in two months.  I can’t just pick up and leave.  Not when I’m so close to the finish line.  There’s also my residency and my apartment…”

Bellamy stood up, the chair legs scraping loudly against the linoleum.  He didn’t really think it was gonna be that easy, did he?  “God, you sound like your mother,” he grumbled under his breath.

As an outward observer, his reasons for fuming at Clarke were petty and selfish, but in the heat of the moment it was easy for him to rationalize his anger, especially after that horrid encounter with Clarke’s mother.

“What did you say?” she asked, hoping that she heard him incorrectly.

“Look, the world is obviously rooting against us,” he said, darting the question.  “It has been for five years now.  Screw the world and it’s twisted logic and let’s just be together!  We owe it to ourselves to get what we want for once.”

Clarke grew eerily quiet and as he watched her thoughts tumble around in her head, he hoped those thoughts were strategizing a way to make it all work.  She leaned her elbow on the table and began massaging her temple.  “Going to Seattle isn’t what we want.  It’s what _you_ want.”

Bellamy furrowed his brow.  “Clarke—”

“No,” she interrupted, finally meeting his eye.  “I need you to hear me out whether you want to or not.  You’re right to an extent, Bellamy.  The odds have been stacked against us being together for quite some time, but our mutually inherent stubbornness is the primary instigator, not the world.  We make excuses to lock up our feelings, we get irrational angry at each other—tonight being a perfect example—and we rarely say what’s actually on our mind.  Frankly, it’s all just too exhausting, don’t you think?”

Though he understood the intent behind her words, the implication still wounded him.  “So, what are you saying?  Are we over?  Just like that?”

He caught her subtle eye roll before she laid her head on the table.  The exhaustion she described was apparently taking a toll on her physically.  “I’m saying that I can’t go to Seattle.  My life is here…at least for right now.”

“Okay,” he said with a huff of finality.  “Well, it was fun while it lasted, right?  I mean, we’ve both been hardened by the fact that nothing lasts forever, so it shouldn’t be too hard for us to dust off the saddle and move on with our lives.”

Clarke stood up, matching his defense posture.  “You know what?  I’m not putting up with this bullshit anymore, Bell!  I’m trying to have a rational conversation with you about something that seriously affects the both of us, and instead you’re ignoring everything I say and acting like a spoiled brat!  I guess this conversation is over.  Call me when you’re no longer being a dick!”  She stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed her purse from the hanger in the hall and left, punctuating her exit with a dramatic door slam.

Though his heart immediately mourned the loss of her, his anger still reigned victorious.  How easy it was to blame her, to blame her mother, and not even consider blaming himself.  With all of the wrong decisions Bellamy had certainly made in his life, he needed to be right.  More importantly, he needed this day to end so he could he look toward tomorrow—toward a future that involved doing something he loved.

Degen & Degen offered to book a flight for him to come out in two weeks if he signed the contract, but, hell, why not sign the contract in person?  That way he could scope the area for an apartment and get settled in before the library design project finally commenced.

After cleaning up the remnants of dinner, Bellamy get out his laptop and began browsing through flights to Seattle for tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shitake mushrooms, guys! I can't believe I'm almost done! T-minus one chapter!!
> 
> Also, sorry for making Abby such a bitch. Yes, she's made some stupid decisions on the show, but I decided to make my version a little colder for the purpose of driving the story. Can't wait for you all to see the finished product!


	26. Standing in the Light of Your Halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT, FOLKS! I'm honestly so shocked I made it this far, and I know it's been an exhaustive journey so I want to thank everyone that stuck this story out. It sincerely means the world to me and your responses are the reason why I continue writing and feeling so passionate about what I write.
> 
> Without further ado, please enjoy the final installment of Nothing Between Us But Space and Time.

**May 2010 Continued**

The teapot hummed as the water began to boil, then gradually escalated into a piercing whistle, indicating that it was ready.  Any rational person would recognize this universal sign to turn off the stove.  And then there was Clarke—hunched over the kitchen island with her cheek leaning on her palm as the shrieking teapot was no more than background noise compared to her convoluted thoughts.

Her mother padded into the kitchen which brought Clarke out of her reverie, Abigail’s silk robe trailing behind her as she hastily removed the teapot from its heat source.  “Good heavens, Clarke!  What were you thinking?”

Clarke scrunched up her forehead, her thoughts slowly catching up with the present.  “Sorry.  I was…distracted.”

“You’ll need a better excuse than that the next time this happens and the firemen ask you what started your kitchen fire.”  Abigail saw the coffee grounds and French press on the counter.  “Well, I’m up now, so I might as well make some for the both of us…seeing as you’re ‘distracted’ and all.  What time’s your shift at the hospital?”

Clarke watched her mother pour the steaming water into the French press.  She remembered how Bellamy called her a hipster for owning one when a regular coffee pot worked just fine.  He didn’t even know what _hipster_ meant until some kid in his computational design class branded him with it.  Of course, Bellamy didn’t realize that showing up to class with a messenger bag, donning a beanie, and wearing Buddy Holly glasses had a label, but afterward he was determined to lump Clarke in that category as well.

Coming out of the fog of her memory, Clarke almost forgot that her mother had asked her a question.  “Um…noon, I think.”

Abigail sighed wearily before turning to the cupboard to retrieve two mugs.  “Don’t twentysomethings customarily sleep in until the last possible minute?  Meanwhile, here you are…up at the break of dawn.  It’s like you’re turning into me already.”

“Trust me, sleeping is one of my favorite pastimes,” she said, willfully ignoring the latter part of Abigail’s comment.  “I was just a bit restless last night.”

A look of anxious hesitancy swept across Abigail’s face before she handed Clarke one of the mugs.  Being an observant person, Clarke assumed that it was because Abigail wasn’t entirely sure how her own daughter liked her coffee nowadays.  In the wake of their rekindled relationship, there were still so many things that they were learning about each other, and sometimes it was painful for Abigail to even ask Clarke what she liked or disliked because the guilt of the past would inevitably resurface.  Why ruin a perfectly pleasant moment, right?

To spare her that guilt now, Clarke took the mug gratefully and drank it black.

A different memory surfaced.  After a blissful night’s sleep, Clarke awoke to the sight of a shirtless Bellamy in her kitchen making breakfast.  He had just finished flipping pancakes when he handed her a mug of coffee, already prepared with almond milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon, just the way she liked it.  She smiled at him adoringly.

Clarke returned to the present, focusing on the rich aroma of the coffee in front of her.  As perfect as that memory was, she didn’t want to think about him right now.  She couldn’t.  Thinking about him would have her thinking about that god-awful fight they had last night; and the more she thought about it, the more likely she’d be the one to cave and call him out of sheer loneliness.  Not this time.  His behavior was completely irrational, so until he was ready to admit that he was wrong, she needed to stay as far away from him as possible.

“So, when are you heading back to Virginia?” Clarke asked, since talking was the best way to avoid thinking.

Abigail raised her eyebrows, but not in the indignant way Clarke remembered from her childhood.  A rather defiant child, she was always being scolded for something.  No, this look was different.  Perplexed, actually.  “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“It’s not that.”  Okay, it kind of was.  Sure, it was fantastic to have her mother in her life again…but every day?  And in the same apartment?  They were still family, but it was best to be a family at a healthy distance—you know, visiting on holidays and birthdays, calling to share news, that sort of thing.  Abigail, on the other hand, had spent so much time with her daughter that Clarke wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually opened her own surgical practice here.

… _which wouldn’t be the first time someone moved to Boston to be near me…_

This whole ‘don’t think about Bellamy’ thing was really testing her willpower—and she was failing miserably.

“You know how grateful I am for this past month,” Clarke elaborated, making sure that there was sincerity in her voice, “but as much fun as it’s been, we both have lives to get back to.  You are virtually indispensable to Mary Washington and I’m sure they can’t wait to have you back.  As for me?  Well, there’s the task of making connections (aside from my supervising physician) and studying for my upcoming clinical performance exam and—”  Clarke sighed, giving in to the one thing she told herself not to.  “And repairing a relationship.”

Abigail let the resulting silence linger for a moment, taking a sip from her mug.  “I assume you’re referring to Bellamy.”

She said his name the same way she often did, the way Lorelei’s mother called Luke’s pick-up truck ‘rustic’ on _Gilmore Girls_.  Oh god!  Was her mother Emily Gilmore?  How did she not realize this sooner?  Clarke mentally drew all the comparisons between their relationship and the disastrous one between Lorelei and Emily Gilmore, wondering if there would always be that bit of estrangement between them.

“Why don’t you like him?” Clarke suddenly asked.  In spite of the colossal argument they had last night, Clarke felt inclined to defend the man who, for years, had been her anchor.  Bellamy was only ever the gentleman around Abigail because, like any dutiful boyfriend, he wanted to make a good impression.  He was also there for Clarke when her mother wasn’t.  If anything, Abigail should be grateful her daughter had someone like him in her life all these years.

The woman’s eyebrows shot up again, her vexation coming through this time.  “Excuse me?”

But Clarke wouldn’t back down.  “Let’s be honest, you’ve never treated any of my relationships with the respect they deserved, even though some may argue that Finn and Lexa didn’t deserve it, but still…you act like Bellamy has personally wronged you in some way and I just don’t get it.”

Starting a sentence ‘Let’s be honest’ while talking to her mother left Clarke with no real expectations of actual honesty.  But then, surprisingly, honesty was what she got.  “Not me.  You.”

Only, that wasn’t the answer Clarke was searching for.  “Wait, what do you mean?  Bellamy hasn’t wronged me.”

“Really, Clarke?” she replied, her condescending tone setting up one of her infamous lectures.  “I still remember your little crush on him all those years ago—back when he wouldn’t give you the time of day.  Even when you eventually grew closer, how long did it then take for you to both get to where you are now? 

“Circumstances, it appears, did not want you two to be together and, after all that you’ve told me, I understand why.  Your relationship seems to be based on passion and not compassion.  You let your emotions dictate your actions, which forces you both to make irrational decisions about each other and sometimes even your future.  It’s not healthy, especially for someone like you, Clarke, who has already been through so much and who has such a promising future.  It takes a lot more than attraction to be in a stable, committed relationship.”

With as much as Abigail had just intimated, Clarke was stuck on one word: _future_.  ‘Your future?’  ‘Such a promising future?’  Is that what this was about?  Did her mother really think Bellamy was going to get in the way of her future as a doctor?  Abigail’s sanctimonious lectures were known to be followed by a shouting match between matriarch and child, but Clarke was determined to take the sensible approach and calmly contradict everything her mother had said.  “I’m gonna argue your first point by saying that you should be glad he ignored me when I had my ‘little crush’ because I was 15 and what we’re doing now would’ve definitely been illegal then.  Second of all, Bell and I are both very aware that things could’ve been different for us in the past, but you of all people should agree that ‘the past is in the past’.  We’re together now and that’s all that matters.

“Thirdly—and this is a big one—what little information I have told you about my relationship with Bellamy does not give you the right to presume to understand it.  This isn’t some casual romance with the boy from the other side of the tracks, mom.  I mean, do you even know all that Bell has done for me?”

She didn’t, of course, given their limited interaction over the last five years, which is why Clarke left no room for Abigail to speak.  “He’d keep me company on the phone when I was new to Boston and completely friendless.  He single-handedly organized a surprise party for my 21st birthday.  He—”  Clarke swallowed the lump in her throat.  “He knew how hard it was for me to process Wells’ death and drove up here from Fredericksburg to help me grieve.  In fact, I’m fairly certain all of his vacation days at his old construction job were used on me.”

After all that, it seemed as if Abigail still wasn’t convinced.  “Clarke, I’m not denying that you guys have feelings for each other, I just think that you’re young and with your future still ahead of you, you should think rationally about where this is—”

“We danced to dad’s song at Octavia’s wedding,” Clarke interjected, not wanting to hear another word about Abigail’s opinion of her goddamn future.  “He played it for _me_.”

This caught her attention.  “What did you say?”

“You remember dad, don’t you?” Clarke asked, probably a little too harshly, but she didn’t care.  The air was rife with years of pent up resentment.  “How he’d tuck me in and hum ‘God Only Knows’ to lull me to sleep?”

Abigail looked away, lost in thought (or, perhaps, a memory) as the cracks in her armor gave a glimpse of what was underneath.  “I remember.”

“Bellamy knew how important that song was to me—to our family.  He pays attention like that.  He asked me to dance and as soon as I heard the first few chords of that song I just…I knew that what we had was something I would never get from anyone else.  Bellamy’s my person, mom.”

The sun began to rise, streaks of light coming through the curtains of the living room, and bathed her mother’s face in its luminous rays.  There was a newfound gleam in her eyes and Clarke wondered if it was merely a reflection of light or something else entirely.

“He wanted that to be our wedding song,” she said, smiling fondly before looking back at Clarke.  “Did I ever tell you that?  I fought him on it, of course.  I wanted our first dance as man and wife to have a more romantic flair to it.”

Clarke hadn’t heard this story before and remained stoically silent, clinging to the idea of discovering something new about her father.

“At the time,” Abigail continued, “I think I was overly concerned about the image that I wanted to create for us.  Now, after everything we’ve been through, after the gut-wrenching decisions I’ve made in my life, I’m still glad that wasn’t our song but for an entirely different reason.  You know the song well enough—‘ _I may not always love you’_ —”  Her mother wasn’t known for her singing voice, but Clarke appreciated the attempt.  “That part always bothered me because, for us, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.  I loved your father, Clarke—every day, until the end, and even still.  I know my previous transgressions seem contrary to that sentiment, but I know that what I felt was real.”

It was strange, how in this moment Clarke had realized that, in spite of their reconciliation, no amount of apologies or conversations over coffee would ever allow her to truly forgive her mother for what she did to her father.  When the memory would reach the surface (as it did now), Clarke felt just as ashamed of her mother as she did the first time she found out but, more importantly, she felt nothing in the way of empathy.  Her motives behind that fateful day were still unclear, so it was hard to forgive this woman for something she truly didn’t understand.  And that was something they would both have to live with for a very long time.

But there was one aspect of Abigail’s story Clarke _could_ relate to.

“I wish you could see that what I feel for Bellamy is real, too.  It’s not an unrequited crush anymore.  Sure, there are times when I want to curse at him or throw a book at his overly stubborn head—last night’s shit-storm of a fight being a perfect example—but he has proved time and time again that he wants to be in my life and, god, he just makes me happy.  I like being happy, mom.”

Her mother could see that, right?  That she deserved to be happy?  Perhaps, though it was difficult to understand Abigail’s thoughts over the next several seconds, a startling number of emotions altering her appearance and seemingly at war with one another.  First, a look of understanding brushed across her mother’s face.  She then reached across the table to take Clarke’s hand in hers, a fraction of a smile forming.  It didn’t last long, however, as Abigail’s expression turned into one of concern, pulling back her hand as the color quickly drained from her face.

“Does Bellamy know how you feel about him?”

What kind of question was that?  Of course, he did.  They’ve been intimate for over a year and Facebook official for a month now.  “I should think so.”

This answer did not, however, pacify Abigail’s growing concerns.  “No.  I mean, have you actually told him that you love him yet?”

Her mother was now the third (or was it fourth?) person to ask her that.  Why was so much pressure put on those three little words?  Did it really matter?  “Well,” Clarke started, her finger fidgeting with the rim of her mug, “I mean, not actually but—”

“You should call him.  Right now, in fact.”

That seemed a bit overdramatic in Clarke’s opinion.  “Why?”

Abigail was hardly one to sugar coat her intentions.  “Because there’s an acute possibility he’s on his way to Seattle as we speak.”

Clarke’s relaxed demeanor grew rigid, her senses now on high alert.  “How do you know about Seattle?”  Even as she asked the question, it wasn’t that hard to connect the dots in her head.  Of course, her mother knew about Seattle.  Perhaps she even orchestrated it…

“I thought I knew everything,” Abigail confessed, worried she was losing her daughter yet again.  “I thought I needed to know everything, to be a great doctor and an even better mother.  But I‘m still learning and, admittedly, making mistakes along the way.  I made a mistake with Bellamy.  I see that now.  Call him and tell him you love him, Clarke, because if there’s one thing I do know it’s that you’re too afraid to let people in completely, afraid of getting hurt again.  Tell him.  He needs to know.”

Anger was like a default emotion when it came to her mother.  Clarke often found herself searching for reasons to let that anger show, to justify why the woman deserved her scorn.  But as much as she may have felt that now, the fear of losing Bellamy far outweighed it.  Abandoning her half-full cup of coffee, Clarke raced to her bedroom, picked up the phone on her bedside table and dialed his number.

It didn’t even ring.  _Hi.  You’ve reached Bellamy Blake.  I can’t come to the phone right now…_

Her heart plummeted in her chest.  If it went straight to voicemail, then his phone was off, which meant that she was too late and he was already on a plane halfway across the country.

 _No_.  That was just worst-case scenario.  There were plenty of other reasons his phone would go to voicemail.  Rather than sit and ponder those options, Clarke took action and decided to go straight to the source.  Grabbing her keys from the kitchen island, she gave her mother a half-hearted glare and muttered “We’ll talk about this later” before flying out the front door.  Hey, it was better than shutting her mother out for another three years without so much as a word.

That was progress, right?

She spent several minutes trying to hail a cab ( _why was there never reliable public transportation when you needed it?)_ and fidgeted nervously for the next twelve minutes it took to reach his apartment.

She knocked as a courtesy, but also secretly hoping he would answer so she could breathe a sigh of relief, wrapping herself around his lean frame and whispering all the things she never said against his chest.  It was a lovely notion, but as the seconds dragged on, the notion became less of a premonition and more like a distant mirage.

Clarke used her spare key to let herself in.  “Bellamy?”  The silence that greeted her was deafening.  Everything was still in its place—dirty dishes in the sink, half-folded laundry on the couch—but the potential fear her mother subjected her to made everything feel colder, vacant.  It had been less than 12 hours since their fight, since Bellamy seemed all but ready to throw in the towel, and yet Clarke found herself inspecting the apartment for dust and cobwebs as if he had been gone for years.

A part of her wanted to just curl up on his couch (snuggled against laundry that hopefully smelled of him) and cry until she had no tears left.

Another part—which was oddly the more rational part—decided that if life was in any way like a romantic comedy, _this_ would be her ‘happily ever after’ moment.  Just because the relationships she admired were fictional, it didn’t mean she couldn’t draw inspiration from them.

Deep down Clarke knew that Bellamy wasn’t lost to her yet.  Maybe he was still at the airport and she could make it in time.  She could see it now, running through the airport, shouting his name as he’s about to step through the terminal, and telling him not to go.  He’d turn around and smile before dropping his luggage and kissing her senseless.  It might’ve been a bit cliché, but who cares?  It’d be a story to tell the grandkids, that’s for sure.

But what if he already left for Seattle?  That was slightly more problematic but still manageable.  She’ll just have to buy a plane ticket.  That’s right.  He was always travelling for her, so it was only fitting she did the same for him—as a gesture of her limitless love.

Of course, she couldn’t just hop in a taxi and head to the airport.  There were things to take care of first, like her shifts at the hospital.  She’ll probably want to pack some clothes for the trip as well because who knows how long she’ll end up staying.  Oh, and there was also her mother.  As ticked off as Clarke still may be, Abigail would probably call the cops if Clarke didn’t come home without giving her some indication of her whereabouts.

Clarke left Bellamy’s apartment, locking the door behind her.  She was about to dial 411 to get the number for Boston Logan International Airport—to check flight times to Seattle—when a blur of human proportions nearly knocked into her.  The collision, however, was avoided as the person in question grabbed onto the railing of the staircase to halt their efforts.

Once they were stationary, there was no questioning who this person was.  “Bellamy!” she shrieked, her voice strangled from the overwhelming and unexpected amount of emotions that suddenly flooded her senses.  He was here…panting and sweating rather profusely.

Her first thought was to ask him what he was doing here, which was silly because this was his apartment.  She let him catch his breath a moment, conflicted by her need for answer and her need for atonement, before unthinkingly blurting out, “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot?” he repeated, huffing and puffing a few more times before continuing.  “No…I’m an idiot.”

Clarke involuntarily reached out for Bellamy, needing tangible proof that he was still with her through all this madness.  “My mom thought you already left for Seattle and, for a minute there, so did I.”

He grabbed her outstretched hand and her shoulders visibly relaxed.  “Yeah, uh…I should’ve told you…that she came…to see me yesterday.  It was—”

“It honestly doesn’t matter,” Clarke urged, stepping closer and giving his hand an affirming squeeze.  “As soon as I knew something was up, I immediately tried to call you.  I completely panicked when your number went to voicemail.”

Bellamy used his free hand to scratch the back of his head.  “I was gonna call you too…but my phone died…and I didn’t want to…sit around to wait and charge it.  So, I went to…your place.  Crap, I’m more out of shape than I thought.”

The sheen of sweat on his forehead made his shaggy hair cling to it.  His cheeks were still tinged pink from the exertion and periodically he’d take in a few deep lungfuls of air.  She released his hand to give him space to recuperate.  “Yeah, let’s talk about this.” She gestured to his exhausted form.  “Were you being hunted by a horde of zombies or something?  Why were you running if you said you were at my apartment just now?”

“Funny story,” he replied, using the railing to support himself while he stretched out his quad muscles.  “I got to your place and Abigail answered and told me that you were here…so I started driving back, only to realize a little too late that my truck was out of gas…and I wasn’t close to a gas station so I let it run its course before pulling over to the curb and just running the rest of the way.”

His phone and his car died?  At the same time?  Gosh, he really was an idiot.  Thank goodness there wasn’t a horde of zombies chasing after him, because he’d probably be dead.

In spite of the ridiculousness of the situation, it was also really sweet.  Clarke was the one that thought she was on a time crunch, not him.  She wasn’t going anywhere, but for some reason Bellamy woke up this morning needing to make things right between them and it made her heart so full.

“I love you.”

Her ears were attuned to the words being said, but for a moment she wasn’t quite sure who said them.

The look of unbridled astonishment on Bellamy’s face quickly told her who.  Clarke smiled, confident that she could finally break through this wall she built around herself and assure him of her earnest feelings.  “I do.  I love you.  God, if you don’t already know that I do, then you really are an idiot.  I-I want this—I want us—so much that I’d give up everything else, even my medical degree, just to be with you.”

Bellamy wasted no time invading her space, leaning his forehead against hers as he slotted their fingers together.  “You know I would never actually ask that of you.”

Her smile was strained as she fought the very real threat of tears.  “I know.  It’s one of the many reasons why I love you.”

They remained that way for several seconds, without a care in the world of the cars passing by, passengers undoubtedly judging their very public display of affection.  Clarke did begin to care, however, when she realized that she had now said those quintessential words to him three times…and he had yet to say them back.  Did her little confession make him uncomfortable?  Did she mistakenly assume his feelings mirrored her own?  See!  This was exactly why she was so hesitant to say it in the first place!

Bellamy stepped back, his gaze steadfast as their hands remained blissfully entwined.  “I drove to see you as soon as I woke up.  I-I had this dream—a nightmare, really.  I dreamt that I went to Seattle and we never made up.  And then, after years of separation, I visit O because she’s having a baby and I see you there, in Virginia, and you’re distant and you tell me that you’re engaged to a doctor that your mother set you up with and…”  Bellamy’s hands tremble within her grasp.  “It felt like my heart had been violently ripped out of my chest.  So, I had to see you because I knew that I had to do everything possible to make sure that dream didn’t become a reality.”

It was no secret that Bellamy had a laundry list of insecurities when it came to lasting relationships (his sister being the only real exception to the rule).  They both did—the troubles of the past often coming back to haunt them.  That’s why they were so perfect for each other.  Clarke and Bellamy could not only confide in each other on these delicate matters, but they were highly empathetic to them as well.

Plus, he just looked so ridiculously adorable, his puppy dog eyes boring into her soul as he fretted needlessly over losing her.  Like Clarke said before: she wasn’t going anywhere.  And, thankfully, neither was he.

“I don’t see how that could ever come true,” she replied candidly, a sympathetic smile on her face as the dreaded L-word was now all but forgotten.  “Octavia hates kids.”

As Bellamy laughed, a look of relief washed over his face.  “She also used to say she hated marriage, so that point’s kind of moot.”  He often seemed at ease by her (rather frequent) attempts to splice heartfelt conversations with humor.  Probably because he found heartfelt conversations to be just as nerve-wracking as she did.  Banter was easy.  The truth?  Not so much. 

“Well,” Clarke started, transitioning the focus back to _them_ , “I guess we better make up right away so I don’t end up marrying that doctor.”  Without pause, his hands disentangled from hers only to snake around to the small of her back, pushing their bodies flush against each other.  Taking his cue, Clarke wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled against his collar bone, unaffected by the sweaty musk of his t-shirt.  “I’m so glad you’re staying.”

As if not saying ‘I love you’ back wasn’t bad enough, Bellamy’s whole body seemed to stiffen at those words.  “Clarke,” he started, which then took him so long to finish that she truly began to fear what it was he wanted to say next, “I’m still going to Seattle.”

Her fears were accurate.

“What?”  Her hands pushed against his chest as she attempted to pry herself from his hold.  Bellamy was a lot stronger than her but he could sense that she needed space to process this revelation so he finally let her go.  “But…but you said—”

“What I said wasn’t a lie.”  He tried to get Clarke to look at him, but she refused, posture defensive as her heated gaze remained focused on the sidewalk.  “I want to be with you, Clarke…but I also can’t turn down this opportunity.  Your mother may have had a hand in it, but a contract with Degen & Degen will build my resume and open many other doors for me—doors that could even be in Boston later down the road.  The contract’s only for six months.  That’s nothing compared to your first three years in college when I was still in Virginia.”

Clarke wanted to listen to reason, wanted to believe in the confidence he had in their relationship.  She slowly uncrossed her arms and met Bellamy’s gaze by glancing up at him through her eyelashes.  “Yeah, but we weren’t dating then.  Long distance relationships are a bit more challenging than that.”

“Then we’ll make time for each other,” he suggested.  “I’ll fly out one month, you’ll fly out the next.  Maybe we could meet somewhere in the middle once or twice.  We’ll make it work.”

That wasn’t enough for Clarke.  She needed more.  “How?  How do you know it’ll work?”

“Because…”  Bellamy stepped forward, his hand reaching up to brush against her cheek.  “When you love someone you just…know.”

There it was—the words she had painstakingly waited to hear, the assurance she needed to finally believe that they could survive any obstacle life threw at them.  She leaned into his palm, her smile boundless as she considered all the possibilities their future now held.  “I hear Seattle’s beautiful in the fall.”

They went back inside Bellamy’s apartment to get on the computer and start mapping out flights for the next six months—after a round of compulsory make-up sex, of course.

 

**December 2010**

Apart from the frequent bouts of rain, Seattle really was a beautiful city.  It had its own history that Bellamy was glad to discover and the library was shaping up to be a rather impressive addition to the posh apartment buildings that stood on either side of it.  He couldn’t wait to come back in June to see the finished product at the library’s grand opening.

But, more than anything, he couldn’t wait to go home.

He loved December in Boston—ice skating on the Waterfront, the tree lighting ceremony at the Boston Common, and, yes, even the Fort Point Holiday Stroll that Clarke dragged him to every year.

Bellamy would never complain though.  Whatever Clarke wanted, he was happy to give her.  He would give her the moon if he could.  Just like that movie she loved so much, _It’s a Wonderful Life_.  Like George Bailey, he’d throw a lasso around it and yank it down—all she had to do was ask.

Thinking of Clarke made it difficult not to smile like an idiot as he walked through the tunnels of Logan International toward the baggage claim area.  She was so close, his fingers itched to hold her.  It had been nearly six weeks since they last saw each other and he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he could bare it.  Clarke’s presence was like a drug and every time they parted he yearned for her more than ever.

But despite his periodic relapses, they survived their time apart.  Their love didn’t weaken, but actually grew stronger as they found little ways to keep the spark alive.  How they never discovered phone sex before now was beyond him.

Of course, it wasn’t just the sex that he missed.  It was simply _her_.  He missed seeing Clarke’s glowing face, how she’d throw her head back when she laughed, and the way she’d describe her medical procedures so calmly and easily as if she was merely reciting directions for baking a cake.  She was the smartest, funniest person he knew…and she loved him.

Bellamy took the escalator down to his destination, searching for Baggage Claim 4, but also searching for a certain blonde who promised to be there on the dot this time.

And sure enough, there she was—golden curls framing that stunning face underneath a red and white striped wool hat.  Her red painted lips were smiling devilishly as she held up a sign that read “Bellamy Blake, the guy who built something, or whatever”.

As much as he wanted to swoop Clarke up into his arms and never let her go, he kept his composure long enough to play her little game.  “Are you my chauffer for the evening?  If so, I hope you rented a limo because I’m gonna be sorely disappointed if my beat-up truck is waiting in the parking lot.”

Her grin only grew wider.  “It’s not about the vehicle, baby, it’s about the destination.  Pick a place, any place.  Where do you want to go?”

Bellamy sighed, reaching out to tuck a wayward curl back under her hat.  “Home.”

She scrunched up her nose in delight.  “I was hoping you’d say that.  I’ve been practicing this turkey tetrazzini recipe and I think I’ve finally got it down pact so that’s what we’re having tonight…and probably for the rest of your life unless I drum up the patience to learn how to make anything else.”

For the rest of his life?  Honestly, that sounded just fine to him.

“Oh yeah,” Clarke continued, dropping the sign and wrapping her arms around his neck to plant a searing kiss on his lips.  He responded in time by grabbing the side of her coat to pull her forward, angling his head to deepen the kiss.  They eventually parted, breathing each other in as they used all of their senses to capture this practically perfect moment.  “Welcome home.”

They walked hand-in-hand to Baggage Claim 4, inspecting the conveyor belt for Bellamy’s dark green suitcase.  He only had one since the rest of his belongings were boxed up and shipped back to Boston a week prior.

Clarke leaned her head against his shoulder, content with the prospect of finally being together again.  “You really picked the perfect time to come back, you know.  The Macy’s window display is up.  It’s ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ this year.  We should also try to get the tree tomorrow because I’ve already got so much planned for us this weekend.”

Bellamy used his free hand to feel inside his coat pocket, his fingers clutching the small, velvet box that remained discreetly hidden from view.  “Yeah, me too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, everyone!!! I loved writing this story and I'm gonna miss it so freaking much. If you have any lingering questions, I'd be happy to answer them for you--you know, like what my original ending was or anything else on your mind for that matter.
> 
> You can also hit me up on tumblr at rightplacewrongsandwich.tumblr.com. I'm not on it as often anymore but I still got notifications and whatnot.
> 
> Also, if you're a fan of the (very) short-lived show Still Star-Crossed, I've starting a Rosvolio fic so feel free to check that one out if you're interested.
> 
> I guess that's it. Thanks a million! Toodles! <3


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